LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

W^cc 



Shelf... 



Ffc 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



J)oem0 anl> {kaaages of Consolation 

ESPECIALLY FOR THOSE BEREAVED BY THE 
LOSS OF CHILDREN" 



■EDITED BY 



ELIZABETH HOWARD FOXCROFT 



Blessed are tiiey -thai srtourn, for thev shall be comforted.— Matt. v. 4. 
. 




BOSTON 
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

IO MILK STREET NEXT " THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE " 

NEW YORK CHAS. T. DILLINGHAM 

718 AND 720 BROADWAY 




Copyright, iSSS, 
By Lee and Shei-akd 



H 



INTRODUCTION 



It may be that this little collection will have an 
added value to those whom it may reach, if they 
understand the motive which prompted it, and the 
circumstances under which it was prepared. It 
was begun by Mrs. Foxcroft while she was under 
the shadow of a great bereavement, the loss of her 
cherished daughter, Beth, by a most distressing 
death, in October, 18S5. It was finished and in 
readiness for publication, a few r days before God's 
messenger came, without warning, to take her from 
her busy life, and her labors for the Master's little 
ones, to be again with the child for whom she had 
longed with intense desire. These poems and 
words of consolation, therefore, have a special 
sacredness to those who know the comfort which 
they brought to the heart of the compiler, and 
which, she hoped, might be conveyed to others who 
were suffering urder a like bereavement. In addi- 
tion to the feeling and sympathy imparted by those 
who wrote them, they are charged with the over- 
3 



4 INTRODUCTION 

flowing tenderness of the sorrowing mother who 
found in them some alleviation for her grief. It 
seems not too much to hope that they may prove 
to be messages of consolation to many stricken 
parents. 

Mrs. Foxcroft had an outreaching love for chil- 
dren which would have enabled her, in some meas- 
ure, even had her own home not been bereft, to 
know what it is to have the light of childhood go 
out from a home. Her life was, in an unusual 
degree, devoted to the service of children. Born 
in Columbus, Ohio, April 21, 1850, she was but 
fifteen years old when she began with joy, the work 
of teaching the children of the poor, in a mission 
school in her native city. From that time until the 
hour of her death, which found her preparing for 
her class, she was never long withdrawn from her 
chosen work. Removing in November, 187 1, to 
Cambridge, Mass., where she was married in Sep- 
tember, 1872, she entered almost immediately as a 
teacher, the Sunday school of the North Avenue 
Congregational church. In February, 1878, she 
assumed charge of the Primary Department of the 
school, which she retained until her death. The 
department, when she took it, was small, but it grew, 
under her tireless labor, until it numbered one hun- 
dred and sixty children. A book in which she kept 
the names of all those who passed through her de- 
partment, bore the inscription, in her writing, " The 



INTRODUCTION 5 

children whom Thou hast given me." This ex- 
presses the spirit of her work. - She knew every 
child by face and name, had for every one a pleas- 
ant smile and word, and allowed no birthday to pass 
without sending some memento, a card, or a loving 
letter or both. 

Out of this labor for children grew a work still 
more peculiarly her own, the establishment of the 
Monday class in 1883. This is composed of boys 
and girls between the ages of ten and seventeen, 
who gather at certain seasons on Monday after- 
noons, at the close of the school session, for relig- 
ious instruction and guidance. The class was 
begun because Mrs. Foxcroft felt that as children 
left her department, they passed from her influence, 
and she could do little for them unless she could 
get them together to talk with them. She gave 
the invitation to the first meeting with hesitation. 
Thirty boys and girls responded to it, and she began 
the work of systematic instruction in Bible history 
and biography, and in moral and religious truth. 
Her earnestness, her tact, her varied resources, and 
most of all her loving manner, drew a constantly 
increasing number of young people about her. No 
denominational lines were recognized or thought of. 
Boys and girls from any church or from no church 
were welcomed. All that was asked was kind and 
reverent attention, and this was given to an extent 
which brought the keenest gratification to her heart. 



6 INTRODUCTION 

From year to year the numbers grew, until the 
enrolment of actual present membership reached 
three hundred and fifty. Lessons in Bible chronol- 
ogy and geography, the names of the books of the 
Bible, in order and by groups, the chief persons and 
events in each epoch of Bible history, the journeys 
of Paul, the map of Palestine, the manners and 
customs of the people in Bible lands and times, 
with talks upon Eible heroes, the boys and giils of 
the Bible, the parables, principles of conduct, and, 
above all and underlying all, the faith that is in 
Christ Jesus, — these were her themes. Prayer, 
singing, and the repeating of passages of Scripture, 
filled out the hour. There was no attempt at mere 
entertainment, and it was a cause of unceasing sur- 
prise and gratification to Mrs. Foxcroft that so 
many boys and girls were not only willing, but eager, 
to attend the class. Three years ago, she succeeded 
in securing money to establish a Lending Library in 
connection with the class. This contains over three 
hundred volumes of the best week-day books. — 
fiction, biography, history, travels, and adventures, 
with a few simple volumes of science. In eleven 
weeks, in the spring of 1888, the distribution reached 
over 2200 volumes, and only two were lost or unac- 
counted for. 

From all this busy work for His own little ones, 
God took her, at noon, on Sunday, Oct. 14, 1888. 
She was to have assisted that evening in the gradu- 



INTRODUCTION 7 

ation of thirty children from her room to the Inter- 
mediate Department of the Sunday school. Her 
last work that morning was the getting ready the 
certificates of graduation. The next afternoon she 
was to have begun a new series of lessons with the 
Monday class. But it was not to be. On Monday 
afternoon, more than two hundred and eighty boys 
and girls gathered at their accustomed place of 
meeting, but it was to listen with tearful eyes to 
words of affectionate tribute to the teacher whom 
they had hoped to meet. The next afternoon, the 
church was completely filled at the hour appointed 
for her funeral, and at the close of the service the 
five hundred children, who, in the Primary Depart- 
ment or in the Monday Class, had been under her 
direct care and instruction, went forward to view 
her face for the last time, and to drop a flower in 
memory of her. So closed a life, which, though it 
measured but little more than half of the allotted 
threescore years and ten, was crowded, fruitful, and 
in a sense, complete. What she was in her own 
home, how incessant her watchfulness, how eager 
and unselfish her love, how tender and devoted her 
care for her own children, — this cannot be told. It 
is Christlike to love children and labor for them as 
she did. In the streets of the Heavenly City, 
which, as she used to like to say, are " full of boys 
and girls," He who took little children in His arms 
to bless them must surely have something for her 



5 INTRODUCTION 

to do. We cannot understand this providence of 
God ; but we know whom we have believed, and are 
persuaded that He is able to keep that which we 
have committed unto Him against that day. 

Frank Foxcroft. 
Cambridge, Oct. 25, 1888. 



PREFACE 



In one way it is true that " every grief is solitary " ; 
or, as the Holy Book has it, " The heart knoweth its 
own bitterness " ; and our sorrow we can never fully 
tell another. Yet all the world are akin in this, 
that "into each life some rain must fall." It was 
during hours and months of a first great sorrow that 
these poems were gathered together to ease a little 
the pain in one mother's heart. It is with the hope 
that they may help some other parent that they are 
now sent out into the world. It has not been the 
object of the compiler to select such poems as are 
known to all by their strength and beauty and com- 
forting power, but to gather fugitive pieces which 
often have sprung from personal sorrow, and so find 
a tender response in every burdened heart. There 
are also passages from private letters which are in- 
cluded because they apply to all who are mourning 
the loss of dear children. Shall we say " lost " of 
the dear child who yesterday played at our side, or 
looked fondly up into our face ? Nay, rather the 
9 



10 PREFACE 

blessed Lord is keeping our children safe. It was 
our child and God's, now it is God's and ours. 
Yet,— 

" The home can never be the same to you it was before 
A little coffin wreathed in flowers was carried through the 
door." 

E. H. F. 

Cambridge, Mass., October, 1888. 



CONTENTS 



Page 
Afflictions, — God's Voice F. W.Farrar ... 90 

Asleep Mary Prescoit ... 4S 

Baby's Death 40 

Bereaved .... Clara B. HsatJi ... 66 

Bereavement A. E. Hamilton ... 65 

Could she return 11S 

Dear Child Sleeps, The . . . , 51 

Dorothy Rose H. Lathrof . . .116 

Dying 6S 

Easter Mrs. Whiton-Stone . 47 

Face, A Ella Wheeler Wilcox . 81 

Flown Soul, The George P. Lathrop . . 106 

Fold The Little Garments 46 

Fragments 20, 23, 25, 27, 31, 32, 34, 36, 3S, 40, 46. 48, 5r, 54, 56, 58, 

65, 66, 67, 70, 72, 73, 7^, 76, 7S, S2, 84, S6, 88, 90, 96, 9S, 

100, 102, 104, 106, 112, 114, 115, u5, 119, 120, 121, 126, 

12S, 130, 131, 132 

Francie Rose H. Lathrop ... 33 

Glimpse of Heaven, A ..... . ......... 133 

God"s Acre . Mary E. Blake . . . 113 

Gone Home 63 



12 CONTENTS 

Heart Cry, A Laura E. IVilkins . . 30 

Her Gain J. L. T. 97 

Her Mother's Heart Sara Palmer .... 103 

Here and There Susan Coolidge ... 74 

. His and Ours 44 

His Way not Ours /. M. U './/.... . 83 

Household Dirge, A Richard II. Stoddard . 29 

Household of The Sorrowing ... T. L. Citylcr .... 17 

I Sit in my Lonesome Chamber . . . R. II. Stoddard ... 77 

In Memoriam Elizabeth Prentiss . . 107 

In the Dark Caroline Susan Fields 124 

Jesus Called a Little Child . . . . L. N. D 42 

Lent to Jesus 82 

Life in Death II. W. D S3 

Little Feet 127 

Little Hands A. C. Swinburne . . 42 

Little Magdalene Martin Luther ... 57 

Little Sister . . . C.H.M.Webb ... 55 

Lost Pet, The Mary Clemmer ... 35 

Margaret 54 

Master, The, and the Children . . . Wayland Hoyt . . . 117 

Mother's Slumber Song Anna B. Denscl . . . 27 

My Boy 41 

My Cross, his Crown George Klingle ... 45 

" My House is left unto me desolate " no 

My Lambs 93 

My Own in 

My Precious Dead 76 

My Treasure Ellen Durny . . .129 



CONTEXTS I 



D 



Nearnecs ......... Eben Rexford . . . iod 

Not by MLtaka George Klingle ... 99 

Not Dead. Phillips Brooks ... 70 

Not Los: ........... S. S. Collier .... 67 

One Less at Home S. G. Sto:k .... 89 

Only a Little Way . 2+ 

Only a Little Veil 105 

Our Angels Helen Hunt Jaekson . 79 

Our Dead 39 

Our One Wee Lamb Anna Shellabargcr . 71 

Our Sorrow Charles Kingsley . . 114 

Pain of Pa. ting ........ Paul Gerhardt ... 52 

Prayer, A .... Catherine Tail . . . 122 

Presence of Christ. The Phillips Brooks ... 25 

Recompense George Klingle ... 91 

Remembrance .,.„,. 109 

Sadness and Gladness John IV. Chadwiek . . 59 

Some time, somewhere $j 

Shall we Find Them J. E. Rankin . . . . 62 

Still on the Lips J. G. Whittier ... 107 

Still Praising Thee Mrs. Browning ... 108 

Submission George Klingle ... 18 

Sure Julia H. May ... 69 

Sweet Surprise. The 73 

Talitha Cumi . . . Susan Coolidge ... 19, 

Their Angels . . . A. D. T. Whitney . . 121 

Three instead of Four Henry Harden ... 123 

Three Little Heads . . . „ 32 

Thy Daughter is Dead ...... C. F. Alexander . . 21 



14 CONTEXTS 

Time and Eternity G. P. Lathrop ... 68 

Treasures in Heaven C. L. Woodbridge . . 108 

True- Faith Mary B. Sleight . . 53 

Two Years in Heaven Frank Foxcroft ... 28 

Under the Snow H. M. R 61 

Until the Day Break Margaret J. Preston . 26 

Vani.hed Faces Mary Clemmer ... 72 

Veiled Vision Margaret J. Preston . 120 

Way is short, The Mrs. Browning ... 75 

Weep not for Her David Maebeth Moir . 64 

We might have Known 85 

When Bessie Died /. IV. Riley . ■ . . 101 

When First He Died R. H. Stoddard . . . 115 



Note — The compiler recognizes gratefully, the kindness of 
"George Klingle" and of Frederick A. Stokes & Brothers, publishers 
of her volume. " Make My Way Thine"; of "Susan Coolidge" and 
her publishers, the Messrs. Roberts Bits.; of Rev. Dr. Rankin, Mr. 
George P. Lathrop, Mrs. Rose Hawthorne Lathrcp, and ethers; — 
for their permission to include copyrighted poems in this collection. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



OUR GLORIFIED 



HOUSEHOLD OF THE SORROWING 

r ~FHIS is the largest household in the woild. There 
* is hardly a dwelling in which there is not one 
dead. In almost every home there are stored away 
among its most cherished treasures, a little photo- 
graph, or a box of toys, a torn kite, a half-worn cap, 
or a pair of tiny shoes. They all tell a story too 
deep for tears. The little ones are safe. Christ is 
their teacher now, and has them in His sinless school 
where lessons of celestial wisdom are learned by eyes 
that never weep, 

Theo. L. Cuyler. 



1 8 OUR GLORIFIED 



WI 



SUBMISSION 

1 HAT can I do? 

Oh, little Life, in you 

I lived, and now, how can I care 

To live at all ? Despair 

Would take me by the hand, but shall I go ? 

If it should take me by the hand, and you should know, 

Would you be glad ? or, would you rather see 

A nobler following after thee? 

For thy sweet sake I put the hand aside, 

I will be brave, my Glorified ; 

Lift up my face and go ; 

Look out upon the light, and up, and so, 

Leaving despair, 

Push on to nobler things to do and dare, 

For thy sweet sake, — and His 

Whose glory is 

Revealed to thee so soon, — and be 

What your bright thought could wish for me, — 

A pure, true life, 

Brought nearer heaven and thee, by each day's strife ; 

Love crystalized to deeds; remembrance puiified 

By keeping close to Him, and close to thee, my 

Glorified. 

George Klingle. 



OUR GLORIFIED 19 



TALITHA COII 

/^vUR little one was sick, and the sickness pressed 
^-^ her sore. 
We sat beside her bed, and we felt her hands and 
head, 
And in our hearts we prayed this one prayer o'er 
and o'er : 
" Come to us, Christ the Lord ; utter thine old- 
time word, 

' Talitha en mi ! ' " 

And as the night wore on, and the fever flamed 
more high, 
And a new look burned and grew in the eyes of 
tender blue ; 
Still louder in our hearts uprose the voiceless 
cry : 
' ; O Lord of love and might, say once again to- 
night, 

' Talitha cumi V" 



20 OUR GLORIFIED 

And then, and then — He came; we saw Him not, 
but felt, 
And He bent above the child, and she ceased to 
moan, and smiled ; 
And although we heard no sound, as around the 
bed we knelt, 
Our souls were made aware of a mandate in the 
air, 

" Talitha cumi ! " 

And as at the dawn's fair summons, faded the morn- 
ing star, 
Holding the Lord's hand close, the child we loved 
arose, 
And with Him took her way to a country far away ; 
And we would not call her dead, for it was His 
voice that said 

" Talitha cumi ! " 

Susan Cooudge. 



THREAD softly now, for you are the " mother of an 
angel " ; and from out of that shining band of 
little ones, gathered to beautify the palace of our 
Lord, one lovely cherub shall wait and watch to 
welcome his " sweet mother." 



OUR GLORIFIED 



THY DAUGHTER IS DEAD, TROUBLE 
NOT THE MASTER 

"P\EAD is thy Daughter, trouble not the Master — ■ 
*-^ Thus in the Ruler's ear his servants spake, 
While tremblingly he urged the Saviour faster 

Up the green slope from that white-margined lake. 

The soft wave weltered, and the breeze came sighing 

Out of the oleander thickets red ; 
He only heard a breath that gasped in dying, 

Or, ' Trouble not the Master — she is dead.' 

Trouble Him not. Oh ! are these words beseeming 

The desolation of that awful day, 
When love's vain fancies, hope's delusive dreaming, 

Are over, and the life has fled for aye ? 

We need Him most when the dear eyes are closing, 
When on the cheek the shadow lieth strong. 

When the soft lines are set in that reposing 
That never mother cradled with a song. 



22 OUR GLORIFIED 

Then most we need the gentle human feeling, 
That throbs with all our sorrows and our fears ; 

And that great love divine, its light revealing, 
In short, bright flashes, through a mist of tears. 

Then most we need the Voice that while it weepeth, 
Yet hath a solemn undertone that saith: 

" Weep not, thy darling is not dead, but sleepeth ; 
Only believe, for I have conquered death." 

Then most we need the thoughts of Resurrection, 
Not the life here, 'mid pain and sin. and woe, 

But ever, in the fulness of perfection, 

To walk with Him in robes as white as snow. 

When in our nursery garden falls a blossom, 
And as we kiss the hand and fold the feet, 

We cannot see the lamb in Abraham's bosom, 
Nor hear the footfall in the golden street. 

When all is silent — neither moan nor cheering, 
The hush of hope, the end of all our cares — 

All but that harp above, beyond our hearing, 

Then most we need to trouble Him with prayers. 

Did He not enter in when that cold sleeper 
Lay still, with pulseless heart and leaden eyes, 

Put calmly forth each loud, tumultuous weeper, 
And take her by the hand, and bid her rise ? 



OUR GLORIFIED 2$ 

Come to us, Saviour ! in our lone dejection 
Speak calmly to our wild and passionate grief; 

Bring us the hopes and thoughts of Resurrection, 
Bring us the comfort of a true belief. 

Come ! with that human Voice that breaks in weep- 
in or 

Come ! with that awful tenderness divine, 
Come ! tell us that they are not dead but sleeping, 
But gone before to Thee, for they are Thine. 

Cecil Frances Alexander. 



Dy faith I entered in the fold 
*-* Which the great Shepherd tendeth. 
So in His arms a lamb most fair, 
Safely the Shepherd guardeth there 
A little one with watchful care, 

He loveth and defendeth. 
Then for your lost one do not weep, 
Your little lamb the Lord will keep, 
Sweetly asleep ! 



T 



O be absent from the body is to be at home 
with the Lord. 



24 OUR GLORIFIED 



ONLY A LITTLE WAY 

A LITTLE way, I know it is not far 
** To that dear home where my beloved are, 
And yet my faith grows weaker as I stand 
A poor, lone pilgrim in a dreary land, 
Where present pain the future bliss obscures, 
And still my heart sits like a bird upon 
The empty nest, and mourns its treasures gone; 
• Plumed for their flight, 
And vanished quite. 
Ah, me ! where is the comfort, though I say 
They have but journeyed on a little way ! 

A little way ! This sentence I repeat, 
Hoping and longing to extract some sweet 
To mingle with the bitter. From Thy hand 
I take the cup, I cannot understand, 
And in my weakness give myself to Thee, 
Although it seems so very far 
To that dear home where my beloved are, 

I know, I know 

It is not so. 
Oh ! give me faith to feel it when I say, 
That they are gone — gone but a little way. 



OUR GLORIFIED 25 



THE PRESENCE OF CHRIST 

TF the city of our heart is holy with the presence of 
a living Christ, then the dear dead will come to 
us, and we shall know they are not dead but living, 
and bless Him who has been their Redeemer, and 
rejoice in the work that they are doing for Him in 
His perfect world, and press on joyously towards 
our own redemption, not fearing even the grave, 
since by its side stands He whom we know and love, 
who has the keys of death and hell. 

Phillips Brooks. 



"T^vO you remember, my sweet absent son, 

^ How in the soft June days forever done 

You loved the heavens so warm and clear and high ; 

And when I lifted you, soft came your cry, — 

' ; Put me 'way up, 'way 'way up in the blue sky ? " 

I laughed, and said I could not ; set you down, 
Your gray eyes wonder-filled beneath that crown 
Of bright hair, gladdening me as you raced by. 
Another Father now, more strong than I, 
Has borne you, voiceless, to your dear blue sky, 

G. F. Lathrop. 



26 OUR GLORIFIED 



"UNTIL THE DAY BREAK" 

T OFTEN wondered, when at night 

The curtaining lids had shut from sight 
Those eyes so overbrimmed with light, 

How I could sleep the long hours through, 
As even the watchful-hearted do, 
Nor have their violet once in view. 

Sometimes, as love late vigil kept, 
Hearing her stir, I've closer stepped 
Half-minded, if she lightly slept, 

To test her with a whispered wile, 
(Meant my own reason to beguile), 
To see if she would turn and smile. 

Then I would hush my heart and make 
Myself ashamed, that I should break 
Such sleep, for love's own selfish sake. 

"Wait till the morning," I would say; 
"Wait till the slumber diifts away; 
Then, where are eyes so bright as they? " 



OUR GLORIFIED 2J 

I wonder now, as, with my head 
Bowed on my hands, uncomforted, 
My heart keeps watch above my dead, 

How I can live and meet the sum 
Of years that stretch a martyrdom 
Of yearning, till the dawn shall come. 

Yet in this vigil of my woe 

Starts forth the thought that shamed me so 

Beside her cradle long ago. 

" Oh ! aching, anguished soul ! " I say, 
"Until the daybreak watching stay, 
Until the shadows flee away, 

"And thou shalt find that God has kept 
The eyes whose closing thou hast wept, — 
All heaven the happier that they slept ! " 

Margaret J. Preston. 



'THINK not alone of what the Lord hath taken. 
Thou whom His love has of some joy bereft, 
But, in the moments thou art most forsaken, 
Think what His love hath left. 



28 OUR GLORIFIED 



TWO YEARS IN HEAVEN 

(~\ LITTLE feet that with vain tenderness 
^^ We would have guarded on life's thorny way, 
Withdrawn from touch of ours, and dear caress, 
On what far summits do you walk to-day? 

O deep, blue eyes! O true and loving eyes, 

From whose clear depths the light of heaven shone, 

What visions waited you, what strange surprise, 
What radiant glory have you looked upon ? 

O still, still lips, that moved not to our kiss, 
Nor answered any word to our lament, 

To what glad songs of satisfying bliss 

Have you your sweet and childish accents lent ? 

Two years in heaven ! The time seems long, dear 
heart, 

To us who falter on our way below ; 
Our hearts, our hearts' desires, are where thou art, 

Nor can we any rest from longing know. 

O child of ours, dear child ! God's child and ours, 
We yearn to see the welcome on thy face, 

We long to listen, through uncounted hours, 
To all thou hast to tell us of God's s:race. 



OUR GLORIFIED 2Q, 

In God's own time we, too, shall be set free ; 

The same strong hand which led thee from our 
side 
Shall lead us to see Christ, and be with thee, 
And so shall our desire be satisfied. 

Frank Foxcroft. 



A HOUSEHOLD DIRGE 

J DROP my idle pen, and hark, 
And catch the faintest sound, 
She must be playing " hide-and-seek " 

In shady nooks around. 
She H come, and climb my chair again 

And peep my shoulders o'er, 

I hear a stifled laugh, — but no, 

She cometh nevermore. 

I waited only yesternight, 

The evening service read, 
And lingered for my idol's kiss 

Before she went to bed ; 
Forgetting she had gone before, 

In slumbers soft and sweet, 
A monument above her head, 

And violets at her feet. 

R. H. Stoddard. 



30 OUR GLORIFIED 



A HEART-CRY 

(~^ IVE me sleep, O Father, hush me ; 
^-^ Let me sleep and calmly rest. 
Sleep is sweet, for in my dreaming 
Baby's head is on my breast. 

Baby's soft, caressing fingers 

Gently touch and clasp my own ; 

Baby's voice is calling mamma, 
In its own sweet, pleading tone. 

Baby's eyes are full of sunshine ; 

Baby's lips are pressed to mine ; 
Baby's arms in playful fondness 

Round my neck and shoulders twine. 

Baby's presence, O so precious! 

Thrills my life with joy again ; 
Ah, the dreaming is so restful, 

And the waking is such pain. 

Silent, lonely waking hours ; 

No more playthings on the floor ; 
No sweet face so full of mischief 

Peeping through the half-shut door. 



OUR GLORIFIED 3 1 

No more gleeful, childish laughter 
Makes me pause and smile to hear, 

And the sound of patt'ring footsteps 
Only falls on mem'ry's ear. 

But in sleeping, and in dreaming, 

Baby's head is on my breast. 
And the joy of her dear presence 

Brings me peaceful, blissful rest. 

God forgive me, but the longing, 

So intense and full of pain, — 
Just to clasp my baby darling, 

Just to feel her kiss again — 

Makes me pray for quiet slumber, 
Makes me love in dreams to lie. 

Yet the joy is swift in passing, 
And the dreams wake but to die. 

When the dream of life is ended, 
Father, grant my tearful prayer : 

Let me wake with Thee in heaven, 
Let me find my baby there. 

Laura E. Wilkins. 



OEACE to Fortuna ! Our sweetest daughter ! 
■*■ Old Roman Epitaph. 



32 OUR GLORIFIED 



THREE LITTLE HEADS 

T^HREE little heads, with soft brown hair; 

* Three little faces, passing fair; 
Three bonny girls around my knee, — 
One hand in mine they do not see. 

Three laughing voices, sweet and clear, 
One stops to ask me, " Why that tear ? " 
Sad smile for answer — smile and sigh, — 
One face thev see not hovers nigh. 



,r TTS strange to rote the dreary blank, 

The silence and the gloom, 
The loss of but one little life, 

Can cast upon a home. 
When a tiny coffin, wreathed in flowers, 

Is carried through the door, 
And earth hath just one child the less, 

Heaven, but one angel more. 



T 



HE angel of perfect love 
Is the angel men call Death." 



OUR GLORIFIED 33 



FRANCIE ' 

I LOVED a child as we should love 
1 Each other everywhere • 
I cared more for his happiness 
Than I dreaded my own despair. 

An angel asked me to give him 
My whole life's dearest cost ; 

And In adding mine to his treasures 
I knew they could never be lost, 

To his heart I gave the gold, 

Though little my own had known; 

To his eyes what tenderness 
From youth in mine had grown. 

I gave him all my buoyant 
Hope for my future years ; 

I gave him whatever melody 
My voice had steeped in tears. 



34 OUR GLORIFIED 

Upon the shore of darkness 

His drifted body lies ; 
He is dead, and I stand beside him, 

With his beauty in my eyes. 

I am like those withered petals 

We see on a winter day, 
That gladly gave their color, 

In the happy summer, away. 

I am glad I lavished my worthiest 
To fashion his greater worth ; 

Since he will live in heaven, 
I shall lie content in the earth. 

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop. 



T^OR a small moment have I forsaken thee; but 
with great mercies will I gather thee. In a 
little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment ; 
but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on 
thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer. For the moun- 
tains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my 
kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the 
covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord 
that hath mercy on thee. — Isaiah liv. 7, 8, 10, 11. 



OUR GLORIFIED 35 



O 1 



THE LOST PET 

^H, where's my pet, my pet ? 
I dream I see her yet, 
Playing beside me on the mossy floor ; 
I turn to find her, but the play is o'er, — 
Alas, the play is o'er! 

Oh, where's my pet, my pet ? 

My eyes are all unwet, 
Dried by the fever of my long despair ; 
My empty hands ache for their wonted care, 

The child that made life fair. 

My pet, I see thee yet ! 

Thine eyes of liquid jet, 
Untraced by grief, or life's hard history, 
Brimful of mystery, a prophecy 

Of riper bliss to be ! 

Oh, was it from some snare, 
Some slow and sure despair, 
Some soundless sorrow never to be told, 
The pitying Christ bore to His upper fold, 
My lamb from out the cold ? 



36 OUR GLORIFIED 

Still, in my weak despair, 
Through the vast voids of air, 

My sick soul calls thee with a voice forlorn ; 

I bleed for the young life from my life torn, 
The love from my love shorn. 

The long, unbroken gloom, 

The silence of this room, — 
How can I bear it as the days move on ? 
As years creep on how can I live alone, 

Shorn of my beautiful one ? 

Child gone into the sky, 

To me thou'lt never die, 
The mother-life will never cease to bleed, 
The mother-heart can never cease to need 

Its missing. morning meed. 

Stay, flood of dark regret ! 

Sad soul, behold her yet, — 

Behold her, sheltered from life's wild alarms, - 

Behold her, folded from thick-coming harms, 

In the All-loving Arms. 

Mary Clemmer. 



F^EEP grief is better let alone, 
*^ Voices to it are swords 
A silent look will soothe it more, 
Than tenderness of words. 



OUR GLORIFIED 37 



MOTHER'S SLUMBER SONG 

SLEEP, my little one, sleep, — 
Narrow thy bed and deep ; 
Neither hunger, nor thirst, nor pain 
Can touch or hurt thee ever again ; 
I, thy mother, will bend and sing, 
As I watch thee calmly slumbering, 
Sleep, my little one, sleep. 

Sleep, my little one, sleep, — 
Narrow thy bed and deep; 
Soon in thy angel's tender arms, 
Closely sheltered from earth's alarms 
Thou wilt awaken, baby mine, 
Where all is mercy and love divine. 
Sleep, my little one, sleep. 

Sleep, my little one, sleep, — 
Narrow thy bed and deep ; 
I have wept till my heart is dry, 
But now I smile as I see thee lie 



38 OUR GLORIFIED 

With small hands crossed in death's mute prayer, 
Never to reach in the wild despair 
Of hunger's anguish. All is o'er! 
I wept, but now I can weep no more. 
Sleep, my little one, sleep. 

Sleep, my little one, sleep, — 

Narrow thy bed and deep ; 
A little while, I, too, shall rest 
Close by the side of my baby blest. 
Safe is my babe, — earth's anguish done, — 
Safe, at the feet of the Holy One, 

Sleep, my little one, sleep. 

Anna B. Lensel. 



w: 



TE who are left alone, 
Do fret so in the dark, and call and weep, 
Do cry so for our own, 
It will be well when stillness grows so deep 
We can forget the world and fall asleep. 



TU\ OTHERHOOD ! how dearly bought! 

* Y * We little know the cost, 

Until we suffer birth and death, 

Until we've loved and lost. 

M. E. Pratt. 



OUR GLORIFIED 39 



OUR DEAD 

jVTOTHING is our own. We hold our pleasures 
* Just a little while, ere they are fled ; 
One by one life robs us of our treasures, 
Nothing is our own except our dead. 

They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping, 

Safe forever, all they took away ; 
Cruel life can never stir that sleeping ; 

Cruel time can never seize that prey. 

How the little children leave us, and no traces 

Linger of that smiling angel band, 
Gone, forever gone, and in their places 

Weary men and anxious women stand. 

Yet we have some little ones still ours ; 

They have kept the baby smile, we know, 
Which we kissed one day, and hid with flowers 

On their dead white faces long ago. 

Is love ours, and do we dream we know it 
Bound with all our heartstrings as our own ? 

And cold and cruel dawn may show it 
Shattered, desecrated, overthrown. 



40 OUR GLORlMiiD 

Only the dead hearts forsake us never ; 

Love that to death's loyal care has fled 
Is thus consecrated ours forever, 

And no change can rob us of our dead. 



BABY'S DEATH 

'"FHE little eyes that never knew 

Light, other than of dawning skies, - 
What new life now lights up anew 
The little eyes ? 

Who knows but on their sleep may rise 

Such light as never heaven let through 
To lighten earth from Paradise, — 
Those eyes of blue ? 

No storm we know may change the blue 

Soft heaven, that haply death descries - 
No tears like these in ours, bedew 
The little eyes. 



T^HE story of a little life, 

So brief, and yet withal so sweet 
'Twould seem a dream but for the strife 
That made the life complete. 

A. D. F. Randolph. 



OUR GLORIFIED 41 



MY BOY 

QWEET earth, that holds my brightest prize 
^ Be wept upon by gentle skies. 

Blest grave, that keeps the lovely thing 
From his sweet dust let violets spring. 

Dear winds, that sweep the tiny bed 
Breathe lulling music o'er his head. 

Hush thy wild voice of fear, oh storm, 
Fright not the little sleeping form. 

Beat not the turf to cause him pain ; 
Weep quiet tears, soft summer rain. 

Weave thou a fairy shroud, dear snow ! 
For the bright flower that sleeps below. 

Drop richly here, sweet sunset light ! 
And dress my boy in raiment bright. 

Green leaves ! make whisper o'er his rest 
And soothe his dreams on earth's cold breast. 

O gentle water, running near ! 
Murmur sweet comfort to his ear ; 



42 OUR GLORIFIED 

Build here thy nest, O ring-dove wild ! 
Talk softly to my lonely child. 

Dear dove, make too, a plaintive moan 
For the sad mother, left alone. 

O white-winged angels ; softly bear 
My darling up heaven's golden stair. 

Dear God, who lovest the little child ; 
Take to thyself my undenled. 

Chambers' Journal. 



LITTLE HANDS 

'"THE little hands that never sought 
* Earth's prizes, worthless all as sands, 
What gift has death, God's servant, brought 
The little hands ? 

We ask, but love's self silent stands — 

Love that lends eyes and wings to thought, 
To search where death's dim heaven expands. 

Ere this perchance, though love knows naught, 

Flowers fill them, grown in lovelier lands 
Where hands of guiding angels caught 
The little hands. 

Algernon Charles Swinburne. 



OUR GLORIFIED 43 



" JESUS CALLED A LITTLE CHILD UNTO 

HIM " 

/^VL"R baby, baby Will, He called. Eleven short 
^-^ months we kept him for God ; now He is keep- 
ing him for us. We would not have trusted him to 
other arms, we who had always cared for him. So 
bright, so winsome, so happy always. He came to 
thee, our Father, so pure, so free from earth-stains 
and sin. He was always thine. We had no wish, 
no thought for our boy, other than that he should do 
the Lord's work in the Lord's place. Should we 
murmur now, when God, knowing the needs of His 
work so much better than we could know, yet called 
him ? Eleven months of joy and comfort and glad- 
ness ; of baby looks and baby ways! How we re- 
joiced that such a treasure was ours. And he is ours 
still, only we are absent from home. How much 
richer our lives were, richer in so many ways. How 
much richer now ! Rich in sweetest memories, rich 
in thoughts of baby's home, of baby's joy ; of what 
he is learning, and of what attaining to ; rich also in 
expectation of a glad reunion ; then richer far through 
all eternity. 



44 OUR GLORIFIED 

But you ask of a baby's grave that covers the 
closed, blue eyes, the golden hair, and the smiling 
face of our darling. Yes, there is just such a grave, 
and the winter's snow has been lying upon it. But 
now new life and freshness and beauty are springing 
everywhere. Is God kinder to nature than to us, 
his own dear children ? For us " He spared not His 
own Son," and that Son is a risen Saviour. 

Baby heard the voice of His call, and went home. 
Baby's body shall also " hear the voice of the Son of 
God and live." For us there is no "sealed sepul- 
chre," but a "stone rolled away," and "a vision of 
angels." L. N. D. 



HIS AND OURS 

\\ 7ITH silence as their only benediction, 

God's angels come 
Where in the shadow of a great affliction 

The soul sits dumb. 

God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly 

What He hath given, 
They live on earth in thought and deed as truly 

As in His heaven. 



OUR GLORIFIED 45 



MY CROSS HIS CROWN 

l\ l\ Y cross ? Oh, can I take 

* * That cross to carry ? did He break 

My idol, and instead 

Lay this across the pathway I must tread ? 

How can I lift it up, so great — 

How can I lift so great a weight ? 

How can I rise and go 

Bent with this cross along the way ? I know 

He chose for me Himself, and tried 

Its weight with tender hands ; was satisfied ; 

Laid it just here — and I ? 

I have not frowned. I did not cry 

To have it lifted ; would not change 

The cross He chose for me, but strange 

And terrible it looks ! I see — 

Looking so hard — a light about the cross God chose 

for me : 
Looking so hard, I see my own child's face ; 
I see a crown just in my cross's place. 
Looking so hard — I see 
A cross and crown. Gcd o - ave to me 



46 OUR GLORIFIED 

The cross, brought it, and laid it down ; 
But, oh, my cross is but my angel's crown. 

George Klingle. 



FOLD THE LITTLE GARMENTS 

COLD the little garments, 

Lay them softly by, 

Put away the playthings, — 

Check the choking sigh. 

Turn thee to thy duties, 

Take up life again, 
Newly consecrated 

By this precious pain. 

Work ; thy face full heavenward 

Give thy life to God — ■ 
His sweet peace shall keep thee 

If thou kiss the rod. 



T"*\EATH emptieth the house, but not the heart. 
i -^ That keeps its darling safe, even though out of 
sight 



OUR GLORIFIED 47 



EASTER 



T CANNOT say 

* To hearts that ache with loss, your pain forget ! 
Although the birds have sung to heaven to-day 
Their Easter songs, and lily's leaves are wet 
With crystal tears of spring, — although the earth 
Is thrilled with the great ecstasy of birth, 

Yet they whose little child has fallen asleep, 
Dear Lord, must weep. 

Full well they know 
The day's significance, and that in light, 
From death to life divine, long years ago, 

Christ rose transfigured, bearing hence a white 
And stainless lily in His heavenly hand ; 
The hope and promise each must understand, 

Yet they whose little child has fallen asleep, 
Dear Lord, must weep. 

One Easter day 
White lilies bloomed the same, and birds were glad, 
An angel came to me, and bore away 

On noiseless winsrs a fair, sweet child I had. 



8 OUR GLORIFIED 

It is because of this so well I know, 
However high the soaring faith may go, 

That they whose little child has fallen asleep, 
Dear Lord, must weep. 

Mrs. Whiton-Stone. 



ASLEEP 

OOUXD asleep — no sound can reach 
^ Him who dreams the heavenly dream.; 
No to morrow's silver speech 

Wake him with an earthly theme ; 
Summer rains relentlessly 

Patter where his head doth lie ; 
There the wild fern and the brake 

All their summer leisure take ; 
Violets, blinded with the dew, 

Perfume lend to the sad rue — 
Till the day breaks, fair and clear, 

And no shadow doth appear. 

Mary Prescott. 



\ VfHEN God afflicts thee, think He hews a rugged 

stone, 
Which must be shaped, or else aside as useless 

thrown. Treisxh. 



OUR GLORIFIED 49 



THE DEAR CHILD SLEEPS 

HPHE dear child sleeps — why mourn ye in this wise, 

Ye parents ? Let her rest. 
The little face that 'mid the flowers lies 

Speaks to your aching breast : 
" My lot is light ; oh, wherefore weep ? 
I- lay me down in peace, and sleep." 
The dear child sleeps. 

The clear child sleeps — wearied from play, to rest, 

Tired out with happiness. 
The doll the little arms had fondly pressed, 

The pretty Sunday dress, 
Her story-book remembered not — 
All, all, her treasures now forgot — 
The dear child sleeps. 

The dear child sleeps — her life was peaceful made, 

And light her earthly lot, 
A little stream that through the flowers strayed, 

With love and music fraught : 



50 OUR GLORIFIED 

No bitter grief the child's heart pained, 
Soon was the short right fought and gained — 
The dear child sleeps. 

The dear child sleeps — how blest she slumbered in 

Her tender Saviour's arm ; 
That spotless heart, unsoiled, unstained by sin, 

No earthly fear could harm ; 
A conscience pure, a sinless breast, 
This is a couch the head to rest — 
The dear child sleeps. 

The dear child sleeps — earth's pain, earth's strife 
no more 
May break that sweet repose ; 
Know'st, mother, thou, what might have been in store 

For her, of bitter woes ? 
She feels no more the tempest's beat, 
Feels not the summer's sultry heat — 
The dear child sleeps. 

The dear child sleeps — only one short calm night, 

That peaceful sleep will last ; 
And, oh, how bright the morn that greets her sight 

When that brief night is past ! 
He who by His resistless will 
Soothed Jairus, lives and comforts still — 

The dear child sleeps. *- 



OUR GLORIFIED 5 I 

The dear child sleeps — and now the last kiss press 

Upon the lips so still. 
The Father help thee in thy sore distress ; 

O mother ! 'tis His will. 
Now, as they bear her to her rest, 
Sing ye the hymns she loved the best — 
The dear child sleeps. 

The dear child sleeps — now, Shepherd, take her 
home, 
Thine for eternity ; 
Ye glorious stars, bend down from heaven's dome, 

Watch o'er her tenderly : 
O wind, howl not so loud and shrill 
Over this flower-bedecked hill — 
The dear child sleeps. 

From the German. 



CANNOT say, 

Beneath the pressure of life's cares to-day, 

I joy in these ; 

But I can say 
That I would rather walk this rugged way, 

If Him it please. 

S. G. Browning. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



THE PAIN OF PARTING 

A H ! it causes bitter smarting, 
*** And a draught of myrrh we drink, 
When from little children parting 
At the grave's relentless brink, 
Hearts are breaking then with grief 
Which in words finds no relief. 

But the child of our repining 

Knows naught of our woful plight, 

But beholds the sunlight shining 
Splendor of eternal light ! 

Sings and springs, and hears the choir 

That below his guardians were. 

Change your weeping into singing, 

All will now be for the best. 
Mourning never can be bringing 

Children back from heavenly rest. 
They who boldly self resign 
Are received to love divine. 

From the German of Paul Gerhardt. 



OUR GLORIFIED 53 



TRUE FAITH 

VOU tell me that your child is dead, 
A And yet you greet me with a smile, 
And let the sunshine flood your rooms, 
And with a song your grief beguile. 

And why not smile ? If she had gone 

To dwell in sunny Italy, 
To gaze upon those palaced slopes, 

And wander by that summer sea, 

Would I not joy to follow her 

In thought beneath those classic skies, 
To note with every changing scene 

The rapture in her glad young eyes ? 

Yet with my winging joy, alas ! 

Always a brooding fear would mate, 
Not knowing when along the way 

Some nameless woe might lie in wait ; 

But now for her, with love ensphered, 
No evil thing can work its spell ; 

Safe talisman ed from ill, she treads 
The fields where living fountains well. 



54 OUR GLORIFIED 

Then why not smile, and open wide 
My windows to the blessed light, 

Since she forevermore abides 

In that fair land that knows no night ? 

Mary B. Sleight. 



. MARGARET 

TT was only the blue of a baby's eyes, 

From the cradle smiling at me, 
But the whole world lay in their tender hue, 
And their depths were as the sea. 

It was only the clasp of a baby's hand, 

With fingers of dainty mold, 
But the light went out of the summer sky 

When they loosed their tiny hold. 

It was only the coo of a baby's voice — 
O God ! let me hear it once more, 

When the world slips out of my weary sight, 
And I stand by the open door. 



"pVEN so it is not the will of your Father which is 
in heaven that one of these little ones should 
perish. — Matt, xviii. 14. 



OUR GLORIFIED 55 



LITTLE SISTER 

T^ O-DAY, beside the open closet door. 
A With aching heart and tear-dimmed eyes I stood, 
And looked the row of shoes and dresses o'er, 
And saw the little rounded hood. 

Oh, I am glad I did not scold or fret 

When first the dress was soiled or apron torn, 

And on the dewy grass the hat was set, 
Or when the books were marked or worn. 

If I had chided when the eager feet 

Across the muddy pool their way did take, 

That she the little friend might sooner meet, 
It seems that now' my heart would break. 

Oh ! years I'd give to see the little maid 

Beside my chair, with head turned so that I 

Might once again upon the loosened braid 
The rumpled band of ribbon tie. 

If she were sitting by my side with book 

Or slate to-night, she would not have to ask 

A second time, with coaxing, pleading look, 
That I should help her with her task. 



$6 OCR GLORIFIED 

Upward I turn my weary blinded eyes. 

And strive to search through all the spaces wide 
Where doth — I cry unto the silent skies — 

The little sister now abide ! 

Oh, Father! wheresoever she may be — 
Whether amid the starry spheres above, 

Or in some world no human eye can see — 
Guard and surround her with Thy love. 

We ask not that the streets be shining gold 

Through which her young and tender feet shall 
stray . 
But that within a safe and quiet fold 
Our little one — our lamb — may stay. 

C. A. M. Webb. 



T ONLY know 

It cannot matter much the way I go 
So that the path leads high. 
Leads closer, every day, towards the sky ; 
Leads, as God wills, toward the meeting-place 
Where I shall look upon my angel's face. 

George Klingle. 



H 



E has gathered another lily to the Conservatory 
above. 



OUR GLORIFIED ^J 



LITTLE MAGDALENE 

HP HE heroic Martin Luther lost a baby daughter, 
Elizabeth, and a few years afterward a beautiful 
little daughter, Magdalene, thirteen years old. When 
she was lying very ill, he said, " I love her very much 
indeed ; but, dear God, if it is Thy will to take her 
hence, I would gladly she were with Thee." To 
Magdalene herself, he said, " Lena clear, my little 
daughter, thou wouldest love to remain here with thy 
father: art thou willing to go to that other Father ? " 
"Yes, dear father," she answered, ''just as God 
wills." And when she was dying, he fell on his 
knees beside her bed, wept bitterly, and prayed for 
her redemption, and she fell asleep in his arms. As 
she lay in her coffin, he looked at her, and exclaimed, 
"Ah! my darling Lena, thou wilt rise again, ar. d 
shine like a star, — yea, as the sun"; then added, 
" I am happy in the spirit, but in the flesh, I am very 
sorrowful. The flesh will not be subdued, parting 
troubles me above measure ; it is a wonderful thing 
to think that she is assuredly in peace, and that all 
is well with her, and yet to be sad." To tho^e about 
him, he said, " I have sent a saint to heaven ; could 



58 OUR GLORIFIED 

mine be such a death as hers, I would welcome death 
this moment." To a friend he wrote, " My dearest 
daughter Magdalene is born again in the everlasting 
kingdom of Christ. Although I and my wife ought 
only to thank God with joy for her happy departure, 
yet so strong is natural love that we cannot bear it 
without sobs and sighs from the heart, without a bit- 
ter sense of death in ourselves. So deeply printed 
on our hearts are her ways, her words, her gestures, 
whether alive or dying, that even Christ's death can- 
not drive away the agony. 



TPHOU God of love ! beneath Thy sheltering wings 

We leave our holy dead — 
To rest in hope ! from this world's sufferings 

Their souls have fled ! 
O when our souls are burdened with the weight 

Of life and all its woes, 
Let us remember them, and calmly wait 

For our life's close. 



T UST gone within the veil, where I shall follow, 
^ Not far before me, hardly out of sight, — 
I down beneath thee in this cloudy valley, 
And thou far up on yonder sunny height. 



HORATIUS BONAR. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



SADNESS AND GLADNESS 

HTHERE was a glory in my house, 
* And it is fled; 
There was a baby at my heart, 
And it is dead. 

And when I sit and think of him, 

I am so sad, 
That half it seems that never more 

Can I be glad. 

If you had known this baby mine, 

He was so sweet, 
You would have gone a journey just 

To kiss his feet. 

He could not walk a single step, 

Nor speak a word ; 
But then he was as blithe and gay 

As any bird 



And trilled its song, 
Until the listener fancied it 
As sweet and strong 



60 OUR GLORIFIED 

As if from lips of angels he 

Had heard it flow ; 
Such angels as thy hand could paint, 
Angelico ! 

You cannot think how many things 

He learned to know 
Before the swift, swift angel came, 

And bade him go ; 

So that my neighbors said of him, 

He was so wise 
That he was never meant for earth, 

But for the skies. 

I know that God gives nothing to 

Us for a day ; 
That what He gives He never cares 

To take away. 

And when He comes, and seems to make 

Our glory less, 
It is that, bye and bye, we may 

The more confess 

That He has made it brighter than 

It was before, — - 
A glory shining on and on 

Forevermore. 



OUR GLORIFIED 6l 

And when I sit and think of this, 

I am so glad, 
That half it seems that nevermore 

Can I be sad. 

John W. Chadwick. 



UNDER THE SNOW 

UNDER a c >ver of pure, white snow 
The dead lie low. 
No fret or care 
Can reach them there, 
No sorrow can they know. 
Hands once busy, now peacefully rest 
Over each quiet and motionless breast 
Under the snow. 

Under the glistening, untrodden snow 

My dead lies low. 

My tears and grief 

Find no relief 

For oh ! I loved her so ! 

List ! sad heart ! 'tis she whispers, " Be brave ; 

Yonder I wait for thee, not in the grave 

Under the snow." 

A. M. R. 



62 OUR GLORIFIED 



SHALL WE FIND THEM AT THE 
PORTALS 

\^7ILL they meet us, cheer and greet us, 

Those we loved, who've gone before ? 
Shall we find them at the portals, 
Firjd our beautified immortals, 

When we reach that radiant shore ? 

Hearts are broken for some token, 

That the) 7 live and love us yet; 
And we ask, " Can those who've left us, 
Of love's look and tone bereft us, 

Though in Heaven, can they forget ? " 

And we often, as days soften, 
And comes out the evening star, 

Looking westward, sit and wonder, 

Whether, when so far asunder, 

They st/11 think how dear they are. 

Past yon portals, our immortals, 

Those who walk with Him in white, 
Do they, 'mid their bliss, recall us, 
Know they what events befall us, 
Will our coming wake delight? 



OUR GLORIFIED 63 

They will meet us, cheer and greet us, 
Those we've loved who've gone before ; 

We shall find them at the portals, 

Find our beautified immortals, 

When we reach that radiant shore. 

J. E. Rankin, D. D. 



GONE HOME 

/^vH ! much you miss the good-night kiss 
^-^ From lips that ever smiled, 
And many a burning tear it cost 
When by the hand of death you lost 
The darling, blue-eyed child. 

Up to the Shepherd's heavenly fold, 

Safe from the tempest wild, 
By waters still in fields aboye 
He leadeth with a Father's love, 

Thy darling, blue-eyed child. 

Gone home ! and though above her grave 

The spotless snow is piled, 
Yet memory brings the good-night kiss, 
And something ever whispers this, — 
"Joy dwelleth with the one you miss, 

The darling, blue-eyed child ! " 



64 OUR GLORIFIED 



WEEP NOT FOR HER 

VI 7EEP not for her ! — Oh, she was far too fair, 
y Too pure to dwell on this guilt-tainted earth ! 

The sinless glory and the golden air 

Of Zion seemed to claim her from her birth ! 

A spirit wandering from its native zone, 

Which, soon discovering, took her for its own : 
Weep not for her ! 

Weep not for her ! — She is an angel now, 
And treads the sapphire floors of paradise, 

All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow, 
Sin, sorrow, suffering, banished from h-er eyes ; 

Victorious over death, to her appear 

The vistced joys of heaven's eternal year-: 
Weep not for her ! 

Weep not for her ! — There is no cause for woe ; 

But rather nerve the spirit, that it walk 
Unshrinking o'er the thorny paths below, 

And from earth's low defilements keep thee back ; 
So, when a few fleet, severing years have flown, 
She'll meet thee at heaven's gate, and lead thee on : 
Weep not for her ! 

David Macbeth Moir. 



OUR GLORIFIED 6$ 



BEREAVEMENT 

V\7 HEX we behold 

God walking through our household fold, 
And choosing there one of His own dear sheep, 
Whom we would keep, 
How can our eyes forbear to weep? 

Where God doth ask, 
Is it to give so hard a task ? 
That with so much ado and weeping, 
We yield to His eternal keeping ? 
Where He hath sown, can we forbid the reaping ? 

Take, then, the best, 
Fold them as lambs within Thy breast, 
And with Thy Holy Spirit's dew, 
So, blessed Lord, our hearts renew, 
That we some day be folded by Thee too. 

A. E. Hamilton. 



/"~\H, thank God for the children ! 
^^ Aye, give thanks, though we lay, 

Under the " sod of the valley," 
The fairest of all away. 



66 OUR GLORIFIED 



BEREAVED 

T T OW many mothers sit by little graves, 

And hide their aching hearts from passers by : 
While days drift on like over-lapping waves, 
They sit, and wonder why. 

"Forever safe " — but oh, what depth of skies ! 

What hills of doubt lie high and cold between ! 
What sombre darkness in the valley lies ! 

What chasms intervene ! 

" Forever safe " — God gathers them straightway, 
Not one is left to roam outside the fold ; 

Immortal spirits never sin or stray, 
In hunger or in cold. 

And yet — and yet — oh, mothers, sad and lone, 
This is cold comfort both to you and me : 

Between us and the Heaven where they have gone 
Lies Death's dark mystery. 

Clara B. Heath. 



w 



E knoiu not indeed ; — but we believe. We walk 
bv faith, though we cannot walk bv sight. 



OUR GLORIFIED 6j 



NOT LOST 

Y/"ES, cross in rest the little snow-white hands, 
Do you nor see the lips so faintly red 
With love's last kiss ? Their sweetness has 
not fled, 
Though now you say her sinless spirit stands 
Within the pale of God's bright summer lands. 
Gather the soft hair round the dainty head 
As in past days. Who says that she is dead, 
And never more will heed the old commands ? 
To your cold idol cling ; I know she sleeps, 

That her pure soul is not by vexed winds tossed 
Along the pathless altitudes of space. 
This life but sows the seed from which one reaps 
The future's harvest. No, I have not lost 
The glory and the gladness of her face. 

T. S. Collier. 



\ ~\7 HEN the song's gone out of your life, you can't 
start another while it's a-ringing in your ears, 
but it's best to have a bit of silence, and out o r that 
maybe a psalm '11 come by and by. 

Edward Garrett. 



68 OUR GLORIFIED 



TIME AND ETERNITY 

I WALK with men and coldly speak 

Of what was once, but is no more — 
They do not hear the stifled shriek 

That bursts from out my heart's closed door. 

I say, "When Francie died " — at\cl then 
Go on with some dull word. He " died " ? 

No ! no ! that was not true. For when 
He went, 'twas Time, not he, that died. 

G. P. Laihrop. 



DYING 

pASSING out of the shadow 

Into a purer light, — 
Stepping behind the curtain, — 
Getting a clearer sight. 



Passing out of the shadow 
Into eternal day, — 

Why do we call it dying, 
This sweet gcing away? 



OUR GLORIFIED 69 



SURE 

V/"ES : we are sure 

That we shall see her, grown more sweet and 
pure, 
And yet so like, that the first glance will show 
The very darling that we used to know ; 
Sure we shall hasten to the outstretched hand, 
And all the tangled past shall understand ; 
Shall tell the little story of the days 
Since we have parted, taking different ways ; 

We're sure of this, 

Even while we miss 
The tender pressure of the loving kiss. 

But oh ! I want her in my arms to-day, 

I want to know the words that she would say; 

I want to hear 
To-day her faithful footsteps drawing near. 
Yes, I am sure, but cannot yet be glad 
That she is glad away from me ; the sad, 
Sad tears (how can I help it) flow 
Because I loved her, and I want her so. 



70 OUR GLORIFIED 

Some time I'll clasp my darling to my breast 

And find again the olden blessed rest — 

But oh ! the years are long ! I know not how 

To wait ; I want her now. 

Julia H. May. 



NOT DEAD 

TN those moments when Christ is most real to me, 

A when He lives in the centre of my desires, and I 

am resting most heavily upon His help, — in those 

moments I am surest that the dead are not lost; 

that those whom this Christ, in whom I trust, has 

taken, He is keeping. The more He lives to me, 

the more they live. 

Phillips Brooks. 



T^HIS morning, in the softened light, 

Came whispering friends with flowers white, 
And gently laid upon my bed 
A tiny casket — she was dead ! 
White robe — white roses — waxen hands, — 
A little spirit burst its bands 
And soared to heaven, — even so brief 
The story of a great, great grief. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



"OUR ONE WEE LAMB" 

/^VUR little baby girl ! our one wee lamb! 

^-^ With outstretched dimpled hands, and rounded 

cheek, 
With eyes of heaven's blue, with breath like balm, 
And laughing lips that had not learned to speak ! 

Our one wee lamb ! Why are we thus bereft ? 

Why cradle life, if it be but to die ? 
Our baby taken ! And so many left ! 

Healer of troubled hearts, lean from on high, 

And by Thy touch that sweet assurance send 
That we once more our baby's face will see, 

That, though we weep and cannot comprehend, 
She is our child through all eternity. 

That fleck of sunlight on the carpet there, 
This bit of crumpled paper in my hand, 

Those little leaves stirred by the summer air; 
O childless mothers ! you will understand 

How small a thing our little ones will bring 
Into these empty arms, day after day; 

Though songs are left unsung we used to sing, 
Though doors are locked, and treasures hid away. 



*]2 OUR GLORIFIED 

O mother ! with your baby at your breast, 
Pray for this other who to-night has none; 

And clasp it closer, closer to you, lest 

It slip from you as our first-born has done. 

Anna A. Shellabarger. 



VANISHED FACES 

HTHE vanished, vanished faces 

Press on our inner sight ; 
We see them in the morning", 

We see them in the night. 
Beloved are the living, 

Who have not taken flight, 
But the vanished, vanished faces 
Make the lonely heart's delight. 

Mary Clemmer. 



TT is very much that God lets us be the parents of 
A His children, and share the care of them with 
Him. I am sure that He does not change His plan 
when He changes their place. Our hopes are to be 
fulfilled, and more, though not where we thought it 
was to be. Your little one lives, and waits for you 
above. An immortal child ! A. M. 



OUR GLORIFIED 73 



THE SWEET SURPRISE. 

TvTO tender, yet sad farewell 

From her quivering lips was heard ; 
So softly she crossed that quiet stream 
That 'twas not by a ripple stirred. 

She was spared the pain of parting tears ; 

She was spared all mortal strife ; 
It was scarcely dying — she only passed 

In a moment to endless life. 

Weep not for the swift release 

From earthly pain and care ; 
Nor grieve that she reached her home and rest 

Ere she knew that she was there. 

But think of that sweet surprise : 

The sudden and strange delight 
She felt as she met her Saviour's smile, 

And walked with him in white. 



OEEK Him who turneth the shadow 7 of death into 
*-*' the morning. — Amos v. 8. 



74 OUR GLORIFIED 



HERE AND THERE 

\\ /E sit beside the lower feast to-day, — 

She at the higher. 
Our voices falter as we bend to pray : 

In the great choir 
Of happy saints she sings, and does not tire. 

We break the bread of patience, and the wine 

Of tears we share. 
She tastes the vintage of that glorious vine, 

Whose branches fair 
Set for the healing of all nations are. 

I wonder is she sorry for our pain, 

Or, if, growing wise, 
She, wondering, smiles, and counts them idle, vain, 

These heavy sighs, 
These longings for her face and happy eyes. 

Smile on, then, darling, as God wills is best. 

We loose our hold, 
Content to leave thee to the deeper rest, 

The safer fold, 
To joy's immortal youth while we grow old. 



OUR GLORIFIED 75 

Content the cold and wintry day to bear, 

The icy wave, 
And know thee in immortal summer there, 

Beyond the grave, 
Content to give thee to the love that gave. 

Susan Coolidge. 



THE WAY IS SHORT 

T THINK we are too ready with complaint 
A In this fair world of God's. 

Be comforted ! 
And like a cheerful traveller, take the road, 

Singing beside the hedge ! What if the bread 
Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod 

To meet the flints ? At least it may be said, 
Because the way is short, I thank Thee, God. 

Mrs. Browning. 



OUT some day I shall see her as she is ; 
*~* The blindness will be gone, and I shall cry; 
" Oh, little child, come back to mother's kiss ! " 
And then, oh, then, I think that when I die, 
This thought will make me strong all pain to bear, 
Heaven's but a step ahead, and she is there ! 

Eben Rexford. 



y6 OUR GLORIFIED 



MY PRECIOUS DEAD 

T HAVE left my life behind me, 
* I have buried my heart to-day, 
And turned the lock in the graveyard, 
And given the key away. 

I know will come days of longing — 
Oh, days of unspeakable dread ! 

When I shall go back in spirit, 
To look on my precious dead. 

But I shall not faint nor falter, 

Nor show by word or sign 
How I mourn for what lies buried 

In this graveyard heart of mine. 



\\ 7 ILL there ever come a morning 
* * When, with our tears all dried, 
Resting in fair green pastures, 

The river of life beside, 
We shall know, beyond all doubting, 

Just why the baby died ? 



Maude Moore. 



OUR GLORIFIED J? 



I SIT IN MY LONESOME CHAMBER 

I SIT in my lonesome chamber 

This stilly, winter night, 
In the midst of quaint old volumes, 
With the cheery fire in sight. 

In the darkened room behind me 

My darling lies asleep, 
Worn out with constant weeping, 

'Tis now my turn to weep. 

W T hat do I weep for ? Nothing. 

Or a very common thing ; 
That the little boy I loved so, 

Like a dove has taken wing. 

He used to sleep beside us 
In reach of his mother's hand, 

They have moved his bed, ah, whither ? 
They have made him one in the sand. 

Why didn't they make mine, also ? 

I'm sure I want to go ; 
But no, I must live for his mother, 

For she needs me still, I know. 



78 OUR GLORIFIED 

For her I must bear my sorrow, 
Nor weep, when she can see ; 

She grieves too much already 
To waste a sigh for me. 

Richard H. Stoddard. 



T^HAT grave but hides her worn-out dress — 
A One of God's sure-winged messengers 

I see her, on swift errand sped, 
Glad of the task which strong souls ask, 
Earth's sharpest pain grown littleness, 
In the new tide of life made hers, 
Smiling that we should call her dead ! 

Smile on, dear heart, until the dawn ! 

When once the eternal heights are bared, 
And the long earthly shadows flit, 
And with clear eyes, we front the skies, 
We, too, shall smile with heavenly scorn 
At the dull, human selves who dared 
To call life " Death," and pity it ! 

Susan Ccolidge. 



T DO not ask my cross to understand, 

My way to see ; 
Better in darkness just to feci Thy hand, 

And follow Thee. 

Adelaide A. Procter. 



OUR GLORIFIED 79 



OUR ANGELS 

/^\H, not with any sound they come, or sign, 
^-^ Which fleshly ear or eye can recognize ; 

No curiosity can compass or surprise 
The secret of that intercourse divine 
Which God permits, ordains, across the line, 

The changeless line that bars 

Our earth from other stars. 

But they do come and go continually, — 
Our blessed angels, no less ours than His ; 
The blessed angels, whom we think we miss ; 
Whose empty graves we weep to name or see, 
And vainly watch, as once in Galilee 
One, weeping, watched in vain, 
Where her lost Christ had lain, 

Whenever in some bitter grief we find, 
All unawares, a deep, mysterious sense 
Of hidden comfort come, we know not whence ; 
When suddenly we see, where we were blind; 
Where we had struggled, are content, resigned ; 
Are strong where we were weak, — 
And no more strive nor seek, — 



80 OUR GLORIFIED 

Then we may know that from the far glad skies, 
To note our need, the watchful God hath bent, 
And for our instant help has called and sent, 
Of all our loving angels, the most wise 
And tender one, to point to us where lies 
The path that will be best, 

The path of peace and rest. 

And when we find on every sky and field 
A sudden, new, and mystic light, which fills 
Our every sense with speechless joy, and thrills 
Us, till we yield ourselves as children yield 
Themselves, and watch the spells magicians wield 
With tireless, sweet surprise, 
And rapture in their eyes, — 

Then we may know our little ones have run 
Away for just one moment, from their play 
In heavenly gardens, and in their old way 
Are walking by our side, and one by one, 
At all sweet things beneath the earthly sun 
Are pointing joyfully, 
And calling us to see! 

Ah ! when we learn the spirit sound and sign, 
And instantly our angels recognize, 
No weariness can tire, no pain surprise 



OUR GLORIFIED 8l 

Our souls rapt in the intercourse divine, 
Which God permits, ordains, across the line, 

The changeless line that bars 

Our earth from other stars. 

Helen Hunt Jackson. 



A FACE 

DETYVEEN the curtains of snowy lace 
^ Over the way, is a baby's face, 
It peeps forth smiling in merry glee, 
And waves its little pink hand to me. 

My heart responds with a lonely cry, 
But in the wonderful By-and-By, 
Out from the window of God's " To-Be " 
That other baby shall beckon to me. 

That ever haunting and longed-for face, 
That perfect vision of infant grace, 
Shall shine on me in a splendor of light, 
Never to fade from my eager sight. 

All that was taken shall be made good, 
All that puzzles me, understood ; 
And the wee white hand that I lost one day 
Shall lead me into the better way. 

Ella W. Wilcox. 



82 OUR GLORIFIED 



LENT TO JESUS 

"DEST, for the little sleeper; 

J°y> f° r tne ransomed soul; 
Peace, for the lonely weeper, — 
Dark though the waters roll. 

Weep for the little sleeper, 
Weep, it will ease the heart ; 

Though the dull pain be deeper 
Than with the world to part. 

Hath the dear Jesus found her, 
Laid her upon His breast, 

Folded His arms around her, 
Hushed her to endless rest ? 

Grieve not with hopeless sorrow, 
Jesus has felt your pain ; 

He did thy lamb but borrow ; 
He'll bring her back again. 



T EVEN I, 
*» li. ii. 



am he that comforteth you, — Isaiah 



OUR GLORIFIED 83 



HIS WAY NOT OURS 

\\ 7 HAT should we do in the dark hours of life if 
' Y we could not rest wholly upon the sure words 
of promise and comfort, — "Whom the Lord loveth 
He chasteneth." We must fall back upon our faith 
without attempting to explain the why. We cannot 
understand it by any process of reasoning. "What 
I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know 
hereafter" — is the sure word of promise. The 
Master has come to your door and knocked sooner 
than you expected. The dear child heard His voice, 
and has entered heaven, to enjoy what was prepared 
for her. All your fond anticipations and plans for 
her are folded up and laid aside, so far as the earthly 
life is concerned only. But what anticipations and 
plans she will now have for you, — and could she 
but speak, her words would only prove to you how 
full her joy is ! Your best wish for your child was 
a rich, spiritual life, close to Jesus' side, — and how 
close she is to her Lord ! Your joy in her life was 
that her years might be free from sorrow and care, 
— what peace and rest she has entered into ! How 
anxious as parents you were, lest in her training any 



84 OUR GLORIFIED 

mistakes should be made. How safely you may rest 

in the consciousness that no possibility of mistakes 

can now arise ! What companionships are hers ! 

What fulness of life and joy ! 

J. M. W. H. 



f\ SAD and heavy year ! how closely written 
^-^ Are thy diurnal pages with the deaths* 
Of little children ! How oft the mother's tears, 
The father's bitter sobs have marred thy course, — 
Thy course of pain and woe. 

O sweet and blessed year ! How many angels 
Have, with unspotted souls, reached glorious bliss 
Since thou earnest in ! How clear and fresh the 

chorus 
Which thou hast added to the heavenly choir, 
Be thou henceforth remembered as " The Angel's 

Year." 



r "FHESE little ones are like sweetest flowers, reaped 
with the dew upon them, before the dust and 
stain of after-day can touch them, and it is a comfort 
to be able to think of them as chosen out of this 
world's throng to be glorified while yet unsullied in 
their purity. G. K. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



WE MIGHT HAVE KNOWN 

\\ TE might have known a soul so white 

Was God's, was Heaven's, by holy right, 
And never could be ours ; 
We might have known we could not keep, 
The child whose thoughts were grave and deep, 
And pure as lily flowers. 



W 7 e cannot say we feel it best 

That she was taken from our breast, 

While such hot pulses stir; 
And thinking of the new-turned sod, 
We cannot all at once thank God 

That he has gathered her. 



We can but look with bitter tears 
Backward and forward o'er the years, 

God's will our life has crossed ; 
We can but let that will be done, 
We can but pray that she has won 

Far more than we have lost. 



86 OUR GLORIFIED 

God may be good to us, and give 
Such comfort as will let us live 

In peace from day to day ! 
But joy will only dawn that hour 
Wherein we see our lily flower 

In regions far away. 

All the Year Round. 



/~\H, the stillness of the room 

^^ Where the children used to play ; 

Oh, the silence of the house, 

Since the children went away ! 
And this the mother life : 

" To bear, to love, to lose," 
Till all the sweet sad tale is told 

In a pair of little shoes, — 
In a single broken toy, 

In a flower pressed to keep, 
All fragrant still, the faded life 

Of one who fell asleep. 

Mary Clemmer. 

— ♦ — 

T^OR heaven is full of strong abiding places ; 

O God that I may see, 
When morning breaks, the dear familiar faces 

That are at home with Thee ! 



OUR GLORIFIED 8? 



SOME TIME, SOMEWHERE 

T TNANSWERED yet ? The prayer your lips have 
^ pleaded 

In agony of heart these many years. 
Does faith begin to fail ? is hope departing ? 

And, think you, all in vain those falling tears ? 
Say not the Father hath not heard your prayer ; 
You shall have your desire — some time, somewhere. 

Unanswered yet, though when you first presented 
This one petition at the Father's throne, 

It seemed you "could not wait the time of asking, 
So urgent was your heart to make it known. 

Though years have passed since then, do not 
despair, 

The Lord will answer you — some time, somewhere. 

Unanswered yet ? Nay, do not say ungranted, 
Perhaps your part is not yet wholly done ; 

The work began when first your prayers were uttered, 
And God will finish what He has begun ; 

If you will keep the incense burning there 

His glory you shall see, — some time, somewhere. 



SS OUR GLORIFIED 

Unanswered yet ? Faith cannot be unanswered ; 

Her feet were firmly planted on the Rock ; 
Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted, 

Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock ; 
She knows Omnipotence has heard her prayer, 
And cries, "It shall be done" — some time, some- 
where. 



TW 
* I 



LIFE IN DEATH 

WAS said, " The little child to-day 



For this sweet life but just begun, 
The mother weeps, and scarce can pray; 
Her tears dim all the light of day, 

For her there is no sun. 

But angels throng the heavenly way, 
And welcome tenderly the child, 
Lead him into Christ's presence mild, 

And chant, " This soul is born to-day, 

And comes to live with us alway, 

Forever undefined. " 

H. W. D. 



FN the day of trouble he shall keep me secretly in 
1 his pavilion. — Psalm xxvii. 5. 



OUR GLORIFIED 89 



ONE LESS AT HOME 

^VNE less at home ! 

^^ The charmed circle broken — a dear face 
Missed day by day from its accustomed place, 
But, cleansed and saved and perfected by grace, 
One more in heaven ! 

One less at home ! 
One voice of welcome hushed, and evermore 
One farewell word unspoken ; on the shore 
Where parting comes not, one soul landed more — 

One more in heaven ! 

One less at home ! 
A sense of loss that meets us at the gate ; 
Within, a place unfilled and desolate ; 
And far away our coming to await, 

One more in heaven ! 

One more at home .! 
This is not home, where cramped in earthly mould, 
Our sight of Christ is dim, our love is cold ; 
But there, where face to face we shall behold, 

Is home and heaven ! 



90 OUR GLORIFIED 

One less on earth ! 
Its pain, its sorrow, and its toil to share ; 
One less the pilgrim's daily cross to bear ; 
One more the crown of ransomed souls to wear, 

At home in heaven ! 

One more at home — 

That home where separation cannot be, 

That home whence none are missed eternally, 

Lord Jesus, grant us all a place with Thee, 

At home in heaven. 

S. G. Stock. 



AFFLICTION. — GOD'S VOICE 

'"THESE afflictions are mightily prophetic ; for a 
* voice from them comes out of the very deeps of 
human nature, assuring us that the veil of mortality 
is too thin and unsubstantial to keep those apart 
who are spiritually one in the grand aims and pur- 
poses of existence, and in doing the will of Him who 
unites all His disciples in one great organism, as 
living branches of a Living Vine. 

F. W. Farrar. 



TT is only when we open a gateway of earth for the 
1 body, that He doth open to the spirit a gateway 
to glory, — " And bid His little child come in." 



OUR GLORIFIED 91 



RECOMPENSE 



YX 7E are quite sure 

Y * That He will give them back — bright, pure, 
and beautiful — 
We know He will but keep 
Our own and His until we fall asleep. 
We know He does not mean 
To break the strands reaching between 
The here and There. 

He does not mean — though heaven be fair — 
To change the spirits entering there, that they forget 
The eyes upraised and wet, 
The lips too still for prayer, 
The mute despair. 
He will not take 

The spirits which He gave, and make 
The glorified so new 
That they are lost to me and you. 
I do believe 
They will receive 

Us, — you and me — and be so glad 
To meet us, that when most I would grow sad 
I just begin to think about that gladness, 



92 OUR GLORIFIED 

And the day 

When they shall tell us all about the way 
That they have learned to go — 
Heaven's pathway show. 

My lost, my own, and I 

Shall have so much to see together by and by, 

I do believe that just the same sweet face, 

But glorified, is waiting in the place 

Where we shall meet, if only I 

Am counted worthy in that by-and-by ; 

I do believe that God will give a sweet surprise 

To tear-stained, saddened eyes, 

And that His heaven will be 

Most glad, most tided through with joy for you and 

me 
As we have suffered most. God never made 
Spirit for spirit, answering shade for shade, 
And placed them side by side 
So wrought in one, though separate, mystified, — 
And meant to break 
The quivering threads between. When we shall 

wake, 
I am quite sure, we will be very glad 
That for a little while we were so sad. 

George Klingle. 



OUR GLORIFIED 93 



MY LAMBS 

T LOVED them so, 

* That, when the Elder Shepherd of the fold 
Came, covered with the storm, and pale and cold, 
And begged for one of my sweet lambs to hold, 
I bade Him go. 

He claimed the pet — 
A little, fondling thing, that to my breast 
Clung always, either in quiet or unrest — 
I thought of all my lambs I loved him best, 

And yet — and yet — 

I laid him down 
In those white, shrouded arms, with bitter tears 
For some voice told me that, in after years, 
He should know naught of passion, grief, or fears, 

As I had known. 

And yet again 
That Elder Shepherd came. My heart grew faint. 
He claimed another lamb, with sadder plaint ; 
Another ! She who, gentle as a saint, 

Ne'er gave me pain. 



94 OUR GLORIFIED 

Aghast I turned away ! 
There sat she, lovely as an angel's dream, 
Her golden locks with sunlight all agleam, 
Her holy eyes with heaven in their beam. 

I knelt to pray. 

" Is it Thy will ? 
My Father, say, must this pet lamb be given ? 
Oh, Thou hast many such, dear Lord, in Heaven ! " 
And a soft voice said, " Nobly hast thou striven ; 

But — peace, be still." 

Oh ! how I wept, 
And clasped her to my bosom with a wild 
And yearning love — my lamb, my pleasant child! 
Her, too, I gave. The little angel smiled, 

And slept. 

" Go ! go ! " I cried ; 
For once again that Shepherd laid His hand 
Upon the noblest of our household band. 
Like a pale spectre, there He took His stand 

Close to his side. 

And yet how wondrous sweet 
The look with which He heard my passionate cry, 
"Touch not my lamb ; for him, oh. let me die ! " 
" A little while," He said, with smile and sigh, 

" Again to '" ct." 



OUR GLORIFIED 95 

Hopeless I fell ; 
And when I rose, the light had burned so low, 
So faint, I could not see my darling go ; 
He had not bidden me farewell, but, oh ! 

I felt farewell 

More deeply, far, 
Than if my arms had compassed that slight frame ; 
Though, could I but have heard him call my name — 
" Dear mother ! " — but in heaven 'twill be the same, 

There burns my star ! 

No tears ! no tears ! 
Will there a day come that I shall not weep ? 
For I bedew my pillow in my sleep. 
Yes, yes, thank God ! no grief that olime shall keep ; 

No weary years. 

Ay ! it is well : 
Well with my lambs, and with their earthly guide, 
There, pleasant rivers wander they beside, 
Or strike sweet harps upon its silver tide — 
i Ay ! it is well. 

Through the dreary day 
They often come from glorious light to me ; 
I cannot feel their touch, their faces see, 
Yet my soul whispers they do come to me, 

Heaven is not far away. 



96 OUR GLORIFIED 

OETTER, far better, not to know or see ! 

*-^ O Lord, whose faithfulness all ages prove, 

We trust the darling of our hearts to Thee, 

Asking no explanations of Thy love; 

Keep Thou her safe alway, and give her back some 

day. 

Susan Coolidge. 



THERE IS NO DEATH 

T"HERE is no death ! An angel form 

* Walks o'er the earth with silent tread ; 

He bears our best-loved things away, 

And then we call them "dead." 

Bulwer Lytton. 

There is no death ! What seems so is transition ; 

This life of mortal breath 

Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portal we call death. 

Longfellow. 



T T O W is it that the birds can sing ? 
A A Life is so full of bitter pain ; 
Hearts are so wrung with hopeless grief; 
Woe is so long, and joy so brief ; 
Nor shall the lost return again. 

Celia Thaxter. 



OUR GLORIFIED 97 



HER GAIN 

pLUE the sky, and warm the golden sunlight, 

*-* Yet to-day, 

In His arms the Shepherd took our darling 

Far away — 
Far away, beyond earth's toil and clamor, 

To the home, 
Where through golden streets, her suffering ended, 
She may roam. 

O God ! comfort us in this great sorrow ! 

Let us feel 
That the Hand which wounded us so sorely, 

Still can heal. 
Let us know, amid our bitter anguish, 

Through our pain, 
That our loss — how great no words can utter — 

Is her gain. 

Lies she quiet in her marble beauty, 

On her face, 
Is the peaceful look, of one who dying 

Knew God's grace. 



gS OUR GLORIFIED 

Can we grieve for her that she is standing 

Clothed in white ? 
That upon her eyes, no longer darkened, 

Bursts the light ? 

With no fear, but with a sweet confiding 

Did she go. 
Death to her was as a beauteous angel, 

Not a foe. 
Teach us, too ; to say though blinding teardrops 

Hide the sun, 
Not our will, but Thine ! oh Holy Father! 

Thine be done. 

As she lies within her little coffin 

All at rest, 
Fold her waxen hands, with pure white roses. 

On her breast. 
Grieve no more, our flower is but transplanted, 

It will bloom 
Brighter, lovelier, in the land 

Where partings never come. 

J. L. T. 



WOULD rather walk with God in the dark 



A Than to walk alone in the light. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



NOT BY MISTAKE. 

\ I J HAT could our love have done ? We tried 

To hold her fast : cried 

To the tender Hand 

That we might understand 

The right way, day by day — 

That she might stay. 

What could our love have tried? 

What secret, mystified, 
Could we have found for her dear sake ? 
Hearts break : 
Light dies ; Life's tenderest breath 
Grows cold upon her lips, but death 

Chose her for Love's sweet sake ; 
Not by mistake. 

Perhaps if we could see 

Where she dreams now of you and me, 

Look once upon her face, 

We might be glad such grace 

Was shown our Glorified, — 

Be satisfied. 

George Klingle. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



NEARNESS 



T AST summer she was with me, who to-day 

Is somewhere in the far-off world of God. 
" Far off," said I ? She is not far away, 

When heaven and earth are sundered by a sod. 

Eben Rexford. 



ryED, did I say? 

*~^ Why only the angels came that way, 

And called for a little child to go 

To the bosom of Him who loved them so. 

Where the many mansions be — 

Sorrow and pain cannot reach her there 

In that resting-place where the ransomed are. 



r\ CHILDREN of our Father, 
^-^ Weep not for those who pass, 
Like rose leaves gently scattered, 

Like dewdrops on the grass. 
Aye ! look not down in sadness, 

But fix your gaze on high, 
They only dropped their mantles, — 

Their souls can never die. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



WHEN BESSIE DIED 

[ 4i IF from your own the dimpled hand had slipped, 

A And ne'er would nestle in your palm again ; 
If the white feet into the grave had tripped " — ] 

When Bessie died — 
We braided the brown hair, and tied 
It just as her own little hands 
Had fastened back the silken strands 
A thousand times — the crimson bit 
Of ribbon woven into it 
That she had worn with childish pride — 
Smoothed down the dainty bow ; and cried, 
When Bessie died. 

When Bessie died — 

We drew the nursery blinds aside, 

And, as the morning in the room 

Burst like a primrose into bloom, 

Her pet canary's cage we hung 

Where she might hear him when he sung — 

And yet not any note he tried, 

Though she lay listening folded-eyed ! 



OUR GLORIFIED 

When Bessie died — 

We writhed in prayer, unsatisfied ; 

We begged of God, and He did smile 

In silence on us all the while ; 

And we did see Him, through our tears, 

Enfolding that fair form of hers, 

She laughing back against His love 

The kisses we had nothing of, 

And death to us He still denied — 

When Bessie died — 

When Bessie died. 

J. W. Riley. 



T^HE clear child did not know she was so near the 
better land, but the Saviour has long ere this 
explained it to her, and her pure heart is content. 
Be comforted, your child is with God, and you and 
yours shall go to her, and in the fulness of eternal 
bliss, the trial, the agony, the separation, the unut- 
terable loneliness and longing which years may ease 
but cannot satisfy, — shall all be forgotten, and what 
faith could not fully apprehend shall be made real in 
our glorified life. 'Tis night now, — but the morn- 
ing cometh. Wait, as God shall give you strength, 
for its dawning, and what you cannot see " for weep- 
ing" shall be clearly revealed. 

W. S. A. 



OUR GLORIFIED 103 



HER MOTHER'S HEART. 

" Mab, aged four ." 
I. 
TT seems as though it was but yesterday, 
* That she was with me, standing by my knee, 
Her archly-asking eyes again I see, 
And hear her footsteps, light as wandering fay. 
Her tiny hand comr.s slipping into mine, 
Her dainty lips are lifted for a kiss, 
Her lovely shining hair, as soft and fine 
As golden corn-silk, seems to touch my face : 
And then the dream has vanished, and I know 
That nevermore until this life is done, 
The fightings over and the victory won, 
The meetings, lovings, partings hard and sore 
All ended, shall I see the little one 
Who crept into my heart's deep inmost place. 

II. 

Long time I said, " It is not just that Death 
Should claim a thing so sweet," but now I say, 
God loved her and has borne her far away 
From care, or sin, or sorrow's lightest breath. 



104 OUR GLORIFIED 

He knew how by and by as passed the years, 
The dancing feet must tread in paths of pain. 
The shining eyes be dimmed with bitter tears, 
The rosy lips ask kisses, all in vain, 
From those of dear ones, sealed by Death's cold hand ; 
And so in tenderest love He took this flower, 
Spotless and white, to bloom in heavenly bower. 
And I can think of her, among a band 
Of loved ones gone before, a golden tie 
Linking me closer with the home on high. 

Sara A. Palmer. 



OACHELS, and Ramas, and a wailing Egypt, 
A ^ 'Tis the old story of the long ago. 
The little life just trembling in the balance, 

The waiting angel, and the mother's woe ; 
Six thousand years that cry has been repeated 

And its eternal youth is ever new, 
And shall be, till the heavenly choir completed, 

The last white wings shall sweep the portals 
through. 



A COUNTLESS band of joyous little angels, 
^* Lead thee with praise, with sweet and holy song, 
Up to the throne of Him — our loving Father. 
Who blessed and placed thee in that radiant throng. 



OUR GLORIFIED 105 



ONLY A LITTLE VEIL 

f\NLY a little veil between — 

^-^ A slight, thin veil ; if you could see 

Past its gray folds, there she would be 
Smiling and sweet, and she would lean, 

And stretch her hands out joyfully. 

All the day long, and year by year 

She will go forward as you go ; 

As you grow older she will grow ; 
As you grow good, she, with her clear 

A"nd angel eyes, will mark and know. 

Think, when you wake up every day, 
That she is standing by your bed 
Close to the pillow where her head, ' 

Her little curly head, once lay 

With a " good morning," smiled, not said. 

Think, when the books seem dull and tame, 
The sports no longer what they were, 
That there she sits, a shape of air, 

And twines the leaf, or joins the game 
With the same smile she used to wear. 



105 OUR GLORIFIED 



THE FLOWN SOUL 

T^OR which of us, indeed, is dead ? 
■*• No more I lean to kiss your head — 
The gold-red hair so thick upon it ; 
Joy feels no more the touch that won it 
When o'er my brow your pearl-cool palm 
In tenderness so childish, calm, 
Crept softly, once. Yet, see, my arm 
Is strong, and still my blood runs warm, 
I still can work, and think, and weep. 

But all this show of life I keep 
Is but the shadow of your shine, 
Flicker of your fire, husk of your vine ; 
Therefore, you are not dead, nor I, 
Who hear your laughter's minstrels} 7 . 
Among the stars your feet are set ; 
Your little feet are dancing yet 
Their rhythmic beat, as when on earth, 
So swift, so slight are death and birth. 

G. P. Lathrop. 



H 



E giveth unto his beloved sleep. — Psalm 
cxxvii. 2. 



GLORIFIED 107 



IN MEMORIAM 

Q PRING blossoms on his baby feet 
^ Press kisses sweet ! 
The music of his tiny tread 
Is with the angels overhead, 
Who in His garden meet. 

Spring sunshine on his baby breast 

Fall fair and blest — 

The shades of earth henceforth must hide 

His sleeping smile, but at His side 

He wakes to perfect bliss. 

L. P. 



OTILL on the lips of all we question 
^ The finger of God's silence lies ; 
Will the lost hands in ours be folded ? 

Will the shut eyelids ever rise ? 
O friend ! no proof beyond this yearning, 

This outreach of our hearts,, we need; 
God will not mock the hope He giveth, 

No love He prompts shall vainly plead. 

J. G. Whittier. 



108 OUR GLORIFIED 



TREASURES IN HEAVEN 

\\ /"HEN such a little one is taken, I do not believe 

* the Saviour lets its heart ache in heaven for 

the want of parental love and rest. If we here on 

earth would take a child that had lost its home, and 

comfort it, and do all in our power to allay its grief, 

how much more would He take such a little one to 

His own breast, and give it that sweet rest which the 

little weary heart would pine for. Your treasure is 

laid up in heaven, in many senses : not only the 

treasure of your darling one, but all the pleasure of 

his soul-growth, the guidance and teaching of him in 

all wisdom and truth without any of earth's sickness, 

pain, or sorrow. 

Charles L. Woodi; ridge. 



STILL PRAISING THEE. 

T PRiVISE Thee while my days go on ; 
. I love Thee while my days go on ; 
Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, 
With emptied arms and treasures lost — 
I thank Thee while my days go on. 

Mrs. Browning. 



OUR GLORIFIED IO9 



REMEMBRANCE 

TT was only a little sock, 

That was dropped ere while on the floor, 

But the shape of the baby's foot it bore. 

And I kissed it, and hid it away, — 

It seems but the other clay, — 
Now, my lamb is of God's own flock. 

And the floodgates of memory ope : 
With his eyes that were purple dark, 
Lighted up as with heaven's own spark, 
Seraphic, he questioned my own ; 
Now, the whole earth has been outgrown 

And his soul has an infinite scope. 

Yet my heart wears constant a scar, — 
Like the print of a tiny foot, — 
Of a cut that went down to its root. 
That is all — to my human sight, 
But an angel, sandalled in light, 

Is rising from star to star. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



"MY HOUSE IS LEFT UNTO ME 
DESOLATE " 

A LITTLE while, you tell me, but a little while, 
^* And I shall be where my beloved are, 
And with your eyes all large with faith you say, 
" Thy dear ones have not journeyed very far." 

" Not very far," I say it o'er and o'er 

Till on mine ear mine own voice strangely falls, 
Like some mechanic utterance that repeats 

A meaningless refrain to empty walls. 

" Not very far," but measured by my grief 
A distance measureless as my despair, 

When from the dreams that give them back to me 
I wake to find that they have journeyed there ! 

" Not very far ! " Ah me the spirit has 

Had its conjectures since the first man slept, 

But oh the heart, it knoweth its own loss, 

And death is death as 'twas when Rachel wept. 
Chambers' Journal. 



OCR GLORIFIED 



MY OWN 



DROWN heads and gold around my knee 

Dispute in eager play ; 
Sweet, childish voices in my ear 

Are sounding all the day ; 
Yet, sometimes, in a sudden hush, 

I seem to hear a tone, 
Such as my little boy's had been 

If I had kept my own. 

And when, ofttimes, they come to me, 

As evening hours grow long, 
And beg me winningly to give 

A story or a song, 
I see a pair of star-bright eyes 

Among the others shine, — 
The eyes of him who ne'er has heard 

Story or song of mine. 

At night I go my rounds, and pause 
Each white-draped cot beside, 

And note how flushed is this one's cheek, 
How that one's curls lie wide ; 



OUR GLORIFIED 

And to a corner tenantless 

My swift thoughts fly apace, — 

That would have been, if he had lived, 
My other darling's place. 

The years go fast ; my children soon 

Within the world of men 
Will find their work, and venture forth 

Not to return again ; 
But there is one who cannot go, — 

I shall not be alone : 
The little boy who never lived 

Will always be my own. 



'T^HOU, fainting soul, arise and sing! 
Mount, but be sober on the wing ! 
Mount up, for heaven is won by prayer; 
Be sober, for thou art not there ! 
Till death the weary spirit free, 
Thy God hath said 'tis good for thee 
To walk by faith and not by sight : 
Take it on trust a little while ! 
Soon shalt thou read the mystery right, 
In the full sunshine of His smile. 

Keele. 



OUR GLORIFIED II3 



GOD'S ACRE 

"II /HERE God's fair acre rests enthroned 

Above the sloping meadow, 
I sit beside the wee wee mound, 
That holds my heart in shadow. 

Around me, rose and lily bloom, 

Above, the wild bird passes, 
And violets faint with love's perfume 

Lie hid in tall green grasses. 

The city's clustered steeples gleam 
Near thought of heaven bestowing, 

As if in some fair pictured dream 
Across the landscape showing. 

All thought of life, and life's unrest 

Are hushed within this portal ; 
The peace that fills each quiet breast, 

Breathes only love immortal. 

And yet — and yet my heavy eyes 

Can scarcely see for weeping, 
The tender radiant summer skies 

In calm, blue silence sweeping. 



114 OUR GLORIFIED 

Oh birds that sing, oh flowers that wave, 

In vain your joys are given, 
The shadow of one little grave 

Can reach from earth to heaven. 

Mary E. Blake. 



OUR SORROW 

\\ 7E do not wish to flee from our sorrow; we do 
not wish to forget our sorrow. We dare not ; 
it is so awful, so heartrending, so plain-spoken, that 
God, the master and tutor of our hearts, must wish 
us to face it, and endure it. Our Father has given 
us the cup — shall we not drink it ? 

Charles Kiitgsley. 



CATHER, we will be comforted. 
A Thcu wast the gracious giver ; 
We yield her up — not dead, not dead — 

To dwell with Thee forever ! 
Take Thou our child ! ours for a day, 

Thine while the ages blossom I 
This little shining head we lay 

In the Redeemer's bosom ! 



A 



CHILD in heaven ! It is a thrilling thought ! 



OUR GLORIFIED I 1 5 



WHEN FIRST HE DIED 

"\ 17 HEN first he died there was no day 
* That was not saddened by my tears. 

" And 'twill be thus," I said, "for years ; 
His memory cannot fade away." 

That first wild burst of grief is o'er, 
The spring is sealed of wretchedness ; 
Not that I love my darling less, 

But love, or think of, others more. 

They move me as they could not then, 
My brain at least if not my heart ; 
And so I try to act my part 

As patiently as lesser men. 

Pale fathers pass me in the street, 

Whose little sons, like mine, are dead ; 
I see it in the drooping head, 

And in the wandering of the feet. 

Richard Henry Stoddard. 



H 



OW should we reach God's upper light, 
If life's long day had no 'good night.' ,; 



Il6 OUR GLORIFIED 



DOROTHY 

"T^EAR little Dorothy, she is no more ! 

I have wandered world-wide, from shore to shore, 
I have seen as great beauties as ever were wed, 
But none can console me for Dorothy dead. 

Dear little Dorothy ! How strange it seems 

That her face is less real than the faces of dreams ; 

That the love which kept true, and the lips which so 

spoke, 

Are more lost than my heart, which died not when 

it broke !' 

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop. 



\ IKE a shining crown upon his forehead 
■ L/ Lay the soft rings of his amber hair ; 
Never gentle soul had lovelier casket, 
Never was a mortal child more fair. 

Like a lake's calm quiet in the forest, 

Were the peace and clearness of his eyes, — 

Full of slumbrous lights, and warm brown shadows, 
Dark, yet not forgetful of the skies. 



OUR GLORTFIED \\J 



THE MASTER AND THE CHILDREN 

YX 7 HEN I think of the sickness and death of chil- 
dren I always see one picture, — The Master 
sitting among His disciples, the mothers hesitatingly 
approaching with their children, the gruff disciples, 
the kind and welcoming Master, and the little chil- 
dren nestling in His bosom, with His dear hands 
upon their heads, and the sunlight of His smile fall- 
ing upon them ; and I read under that picture these 
words : " Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, 
and forever." And I am sure with a double surety 
that children though they sicken and flutter at our 
side, or have flown away into the dreadful unknown, 
are in His arms yet, and He is caring for them. I 
think I should die sometimes if I could not see that 
picture. And the picture is hung as much for you 
as for me; and if you are tired and troubled, and 
want to go with t'he children, and be surrounded 
with the same arms, and rest your head upon the 
same bosom, Christ will let you. So let us listen to 
His welcome, and rest in Him. 

Wayland Hoyt. 



I 1 8 OUR GLORIFIED 



COULD SHE RETURN 

T^HEY say if our beloved dead 

* Should seek the old familiar place, 
Some stranger would be there instead, 
And they would find no welcome face. 

I cannot tell how it might be 

In other homes, — but this I know ; 

Could my lost darling come to me, 
That she would never find it so. 

Ofttimes the flowers have come and gone, 
Ofttimes the winter winds have blown, 

The while her peaceful rest went on, 
And I have learned to live alone. 

Have slowly learned from day to day 
In all life's tasks to bear my part, 

But whether grave or whether gay, 
I hide her memory in my heart. 

Fond, faithful love has blest my way. 

And friends are round me, true and tried; 
They have their place — but hers to-day 

Is empty as the day she died. 



OUR GLORIFIED IIQ 

How would I spring with bated breath, 
And joy too deep for word or sign, 

To take my darling home from death, 
And once again to call her mine I 

I dare not dream — the blissful dream 

It rills my heart with wild unrest ; 
Where yonder cold white marbles gleam, 

She still must slumber — God knows best. 

But this I know, that those who say 
Our best-beloved would find no place, 

Have never hungered every day — 

For years and years — for one sweet face. 



A SHADOW has fallen upon your household. 

■** But it is the shadow of the One who came to 

give as He came to take, the shadow of Him whose 

shadow is light. . . . God sometimes washes the 

eyes of His children with tears, that they may see, 

• the more clearly, to read aright His providence, and 

His commandments. 

T. S. Cuyler. 



" Y\ 71TH patience, then, the course of duty run ; 

God never does, nor suffers to be done, 
But thou would'st do thyself, could'st thou but see 
The end of all events as well as He." 



120 OUR GLORIFIED 



VEILED VISION 



JF suddenly there stood to us revealed 

The world of spirits, that may be so near, — 
Not, as we dream, some far, unreckoned sphere, 
But close to us as heart beat, though concealed 
As were the fiery chariots all afield, 
Girdling the prophet, till a touch made clear 
His curtained sight, to what ignoble fear, 
And shame, and self-reproach, our souls would yield, 

We might behold our darling dead, their eyes 
Clouded through wonder at our empty days ; 
Sad with vast pity for our waste and woe, 
Our mad mistakes, our blind and grovelling ways, 
Our cold forgettings ! Yet God's angels so 
Do watch us with a mystery of surprise. 

Margaret Preston. 



C VEN for the dead I will not bind 

My soul to grief — death cannot long divide, 
For is it not as if the rose had climbed 

My garden wall, and blossomed on the other side ? 

Alice Cary. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



THEIR ANGELS 

J\ /I Y heart is as lonely as heart can be, 
*■ * And the cry of Rachel goes up from me 
For the tender faces unforgot, 
Of the little children that are not ; 

Although I know 
They are all in the land where I shall go. 

I want them close in the dear old way ; 
But life goes forward and will not stay; 
And He who made it has made it right ; 
Yet I miss my darlings out of my sight, 

Although I know 
They are all in the land where I shall go. 

A. D. T. Whitney. 



\\ 7" HAT can we do, o'er whom the unbeholden 

* " Hangs in a night wherewith we dare not cope ? 
What but look sunward, and with faces golden, 
Speak to each other softly of our hope. 



shall go to him, but he shall not return to me. - 
2 Sam. xii. 23. 



OUR GLORIFIED 



A PRAYER 

T ORD, Thou hast let Thy little ones depart in 
*-' peace. 

Lord Jesus, Thou hast received their spirits, and 
hast opened unto them the gate of everlasting glory. 

Thy loving Spirit leads them forth into the land 
of righteousness, into Thy holy hill, into Thy heav- 
enly kingdom. Thou didst send Thy angel to meet 
them, and to carry them into Abraham's bosom. 

Thou hast placed them in the habitation of light 
and peace — of joy and gladness. Thou hast- re- 
ceived them into the arms of Thy mercy, and given 
them an inheritance with Thy saints in light. There 
they reign with Thy elect angels, and Thy blessed 
saints departed, Thy holy prophets and glorious 
apostles, in all joy, glory, felicity, and blessedness, 
forever and ever. Amen. 

(A prayer written by Catherine Tait, wife of the 
Archbishop of Canterbury, by which she tried to 
comfort her own heart, and the heart of her husband, 
after they were suddenly deprived, by death, of " five 
most blessed little daughters.") 



OUR GLORIFIED 123 



THREE INSTEAD OF FOUR 

T LAY the table as I did last year, 

And place the chairs around it as before; 
Oh ! if I only could hold back the tear, 

And they not see it — three instead of four ! 

They now are coming in their youthful glee^: 
I'll hide my face a little by the door ; 

They may not notice any change in me 

When they are passing — three instead of four! 

I look around, but do not see them all 
As on Thanksgiving Day a year ago : 

One loving, struggling tear, I let it fall, 

When a sweet spirit voice comes whispering low. 

I listen, heedless of the others near, 

Thanking my Father for all mercies given, 

I wonder if my darling saw that tear ? 
It is not very far from earth to heaven. 

I would not call him from the other shore 
To sit beside me at the feast to-night ; 

It only seemed but three instead of four 
When for a moment God had hid the light. 

Henry C. Hayden. 



124 OUR GLORIFIED 



M 1 



IN THE DARK 

| IDNIGHT brooded weird and lone: 
Nothing broke the wintry gloom 
Save the drowsy monotone 
Of the clock, as one by one 
From its steady hands the minutes fell into my silent 
room. 

Close beside the larger bed 
Stood the cradle in its place ; 

Mid the blankets, softly spread, 

Lay the baby's golden head, 
And his light breath, coming, going, gently fanned 
against my face. 

Something in th* 3 darkness stirred, 
Warmly nestling at my side 

Like a little sleepy bird. 

" Mamma ! " — very low the word ; 
Hush and darkness made the narrow space between 
us seem so wide. 



OUR GLORIFIED 1 25 

Then I murmured, as he lay, 
" Mamma's close beside you dear, 

Soon the night will go away, 

By and by it will be day ; 
In the morning, when my baby wakens, mamma will 
be heie." 

Wandering ringers toward me crept ; 
"Mamma, let me hold your hand/' 

Clasping it, he soothed and slept ; 

Clasping his, I could have wept, 
Humbled by that perfect trust which needed not to 
understand. 

Years have passed me by since then ; 
Long the little bed has stood 

Empty, silent ; yet, again, 

Thrilling deeper than my pain, 
Comes the tender voice to banish every bitter, doubt- 
ing mood. 

Through the voiceless hush of death 

Through life's midnight, dark and dim, 
Turning unto Christ, who saith 
To each asking soul, " Have faith," 

Heavenward I reach my longing, groping human 
hands to Him. 



126 OUR GLORIFIED 

Does He take them ? Ay, He does ! 
All the chasm, deep and wide, 

Spanning by His love that flows 
Freely for all human woes. 
I shall wake in heaven's bright morning, with my 
baby by my side. 

Caroline Leslie Field. 



\\ 7E saw no door-latch lift that night, 

Nor sash, nor panel stir, 
Nor sound of wheels, nor dip of oar 

That brought the messenger ; 
But out on the waves of silentness, 

Where angel's pinions glide, 
They bore her soul — the fair white soul — 
Of the little girl that died. 

Rosaline E. Jones. 

T LIVE ! O ye that loved me, 
Your faith was not in vain ; 
Back through the shadowy valley 

I come to you again. 
Safe in the love that guides me, 

With fearless feet I tread, 
My home is with the angels, 

O say not I am dead ! 



OUR GLORIFIED 127 



LITTLE FEET 

r^ OD bless the little feet that now can never go 
^■^ astray ; 

For the little shoes are empty, in my closet hid away ; 
Sometimes I take one in my hand, forgetting, till I 

see. 
It is a tiny, half-worn shoe, not large enough for me ; 
And all at once I feel a sense of bitter loss and pain, 
As sharp as when, two years ago, it cut my heart in 

twain. 

little feet that wearied not ! I wait for them no 

more 
For I am drifting on the tide by which they've 

reached the shore ; 
And while the blinding teardrops wet these little 

shoes so old, 

1 try to think my darling's feet are treading streets 

of gold ; 
And so I lay them down again, but always turn to 

say, — 
"God bless the little feet that now so surely cannot 

stray." 



128 OUR GLORIFIED 

And while I thus am standing, I almost seem to see 
A little form beside me, just as she used to be — 
A little face uplifted, with its sweet and tender eyes ; 
Ah ! me ! I might have known those looks were born 

of Paradise. 
I reach my arms out fondly, but they clasp the empty- 
air, 
There is nothing of my darling but the shoes she 
used to wear. 

Oh ! the bitterness of parting cannot be done away, 
Till I meet my darling walking where her feet can 

never stray ; 
When I no more am' drifted upon the surging tide, 
But with her safe am landed upon the river-side. 
Be patient, heart, while waiting to see the shining 

way. 
And the little feet, on the golden street, that can 

never go astray. 



'"PHEY shall hunger no more, neither thirst any 
more; neither shall the sun strike upon them, 
nor any heat ; for the Lamb which is in the midst of 
the throne shall be their shepherd, and shall guide 
them unto fountains of waters of life : and God shall 
wipe away every tear from their eyes. — Rev. vii. 
1 6, 17. 



OUR GLORIFIED 1 29 



MY TREASURE. 

T N that fair land beyond these changing days 

Doth my true love abide — 
And hand in hand with Christ the Lord he strays 
The still blue sea beside. 

His are the rest and peace and happy home, 

Mine are the empty days. 
Forth from his breast swells Heaven's melodious 
psalm, 

My sad heart sings no praise. 

He wears the victor's crown, the robe, the palm, 

I live midst weary strife — ■ 
The eternal years enfold him in their calm — 

How can I bear my life ? 

With tears down-falling, my o'erwearied eyes, 

Look up through Heaven's gate. 
My lost one tastes the joys of Paradise — 

On him the angels wait. 

His eyes will never weep such bitter tears 

As my sad life has known. 
And God will keep him through the endless years, 

Close to His great white throne. 



I30 OUR GLORIFIED 

O heart ! be thou content to suffer loss 
And be thou strong to bear ; 

For loneliness, nor pain, nor heavy cross, 
Can reach thy treasure there. 

Ella Duroy. 



T KNOW that Christ will never chide 

My sorrow, He hath wept and sighed ; 
I feel the pressure of His hand, 
I know that He doth understand. 

And Thou, Lord, wilt be more to me, 
For that dear one who is with Thee ; 
Thus Thou wilt fill the vacant place 
In Thy deep tenderness and grace. 



TVTO mother's eye beside thee wakes to-night, 
* No taper burns beside thy lonely bed ; 
Darkling thou liest, hidden out of sight, 

And none are near thee but the silent dead. 

And though we nothing speak, yet well I know- 
That both our hearts are there, where thou dost 
keep, 

Within thy narrow chamber far below, 

For the first time unwatched, thy lonely sleep. 






OUR GLORIFIED 131 



TF we dwell, in mistaken and morbid love, upon the 

-*■ harrowing scenes that have to do with earth alone, 

we loose the bond between us and our children in 

heaven, and are carried far out of sympathy with the 

new life in which they are unfolding : thus only can 

they cease to be our own. Sorrowing is indeed our 

precious right, but sorrowing in hope is our sublime 

privilege, and our Christian duty. 

Helen K. Johnson. 
— • — 

'"FHP] soul's sweetness is often drawn out by tears, 

and the hearts of God's children need sometimes 

to be crushed, as men press flowers to get their 

richest odors. 

Robert West. 



"COR the Lord will not cast off forever. For 
though He cause grief, yet will He have compas- 
sion according to the multitude of His mercies. For 
He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children 
of men. — Lam. iii. 31, 32, ^. 



WILL ransom them from the power of the grave. 
I will redeem them from death. — Hosea xiii. 13, 



132 OUR GLORIFIED 



1 17 HEN the family is gathered, and the Father's 
house complete, 

Then we and thou, beloved, in our Father's smile 
shall meet. 

Together do we watch and wait for that long prom- 
ised day, 

When the voice that rends the tombs shall call, 
"Arise and come away." 



'""THERE'S many an empty cradle, 

There's many a vacant bed, 
There's many a lonely bosom, 

Whose joy and light have fled. 
For thick in every graveyard, 

The little hillocks lie, 
And every hillock represents 

An angel in the sky. 



"COLD them, O Father, in Thine arms, 

And may they henceforth be 
As messengers of love between 
Our human hearts and Thee. 



GLORIFIED I33 



A GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN. 

'"THERE was once a little boy, no matter how long 
ago, whose little sister was very ill — so ill that 
the doctor said there was no hope that she could 
live many days. Now in the country where these 
children lived, it was always believed that if any 
mortal could get one leaf from the Tree of Life, that 
grew in the garden of God, every illness would be 
cured at once. JBut no one had ever tried to get 
this leaf, because the journey was steep and rough 
to the gates of the garden, and because an Angel 
stood there to keep the gate, and would let no one 
pass. But this little boy loved his sister so well — 
so well that he could not have loved her more if he 
had tried with all his might. And when all other 
hope seemed gone, he said, " I will go, I will beg of 
the Angel at the gate to let me in for one moment, 
or to give me a leaf, only one leaf, from the Tree." 
So he went by the long, rough way, till in the golden 
sunset he stood before that great Angel, and, trem- 
bling, made his request. 

" None can enter this garden but those children 
of the King for whom He has sent, that they may 



134 0UR GLORIFIED 

be with Him. I can let no other enter," answered 
the Angel. 

"But one leaf," prayed the child, "one little leaf 
to cure my sister. The King will not be angry ! " 
And as he spoke he could hear, though he could not 
see into the garden, the Tree rustling gently, and 
the birds among the branches, warbling the praises 
of the King of Glory. 

" Only one leaf, and there are so many on the 
Tree. The King, the loving Father, cannot wish 
that my poor little sister should have to suffer so, 
and then die and leave me all alone. Have pity 
upon me, great Angel, it is such a little thing I ask ! " 
entreated the child. But the Angel looked down 
upon him with deep love and pity in His eyes. 

"The King has sent my brother, the Angel of 
Death, to bring your sister to Him. She shall dwell 
forever in the light of His smile. If you are allowed 
to keep her, will you promise me to take care that 
she shall never again lie tossing on a sick bed ? " 

" How can I ? " said the child, wondering. " Not 
even the wisest physicians can always heal diseases 
at once." 

" Then will you promise that she shall never be 
unhappy ? never do wrong, and suffer shame and 
sorrow ? never be cold, hungry, tired ? that no one 
shall speak harshly to her ? " asked the Angel. 






OUR GLORIFIED I35 

" Not if I can help it," answered the child. " But 
perhaps I could not always make her happy even 
when I am grown up." 

" Then the world where you want to keep her is 
rather a sad place," the Angel said, gently. " Now 
I will open the gate a little, and you shall look in for 
a moment, and if you still wish it, my child, I will 
ask, myself, that you may have a leaf from the Tree 
of Life, that your sister may stay upon earth with 
you." 

So the Angel who kept the golden gate opened it 
a very little way, and as the mighty door rolled back 
for a moment, the child could see into the Land, 
where by the river stands the Tree of Life, and where 
those who are counted worthy walk forever in white; 
where they need no candle, neither light of the sun, 
because the smile of God is the light of that wonder- 
ful place, and Llis servants shall serve Him, and no 
tongue can tell the happiness that is theirs forever 
and ever. I cannot tell you what the little brother 
saw — you and I have to wait a while, trusting that 
the Father will in His mercy, for His Son's sake, 
give us a place there. But this I will tell you, that 
the child turned towards the beautiful Angel, with 
eyes full of wonder and surprise. 

"I will not ask it now," he said; "I think there 
is no friend so kind as the Angel of Death, who 



I36 OUR GLORIFIED 

seems to us so dreadful. Oh, I wish he would take 
me, too ! " And the Angel answered, " When all 
the lessons which the Father desires you to learn in 
His school which is called the Earth, are learnt ; 
when the little piece of His great work that is meant 
for your hands is finished, then the Angel will come 
for you too, my child, if only you are faithful." 

And the child turned away, and went back under 
the stars, that were like the eyes of angels watching 
him, back from the golden gate to his home in the 
world. And as he went a golden ray shot once 
across his path, and brought a sound of wonderful 
music, such as he had never heard. And he knew 
that the golden gates had opened, and his sister had 
passed in. On a little bed at home lay her body, 
white and still, but he knew that it was only the 
dress she had worn in the world. And the child 
was comforted. 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



029 822 6388] 



